Wisdom, Sorrow
by Nevar23
Summary: Picking up the story from the Garden after the final Altair scene. What happens to the Brotherhood? Who will lead them? What will become of the Piece of Eden?
1. The Conclave 1

"I've never seen anything like it," Malik said, his voice tinged with awe as he stared at the apparition cast by the Piece of Eden. Though he'd retrieved it for Al Mualim, he'd never seen what the treasure was capable of. "Altair…what is it?"

"It's a curse. A weapon of lies and deception."

"Will you destroy it, then?"

He didn't answer. The biblical passage that Al Mualim had recited as he died still rang in his mind. _For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow_. There was much truth in the words, he reflected, though it seemed an odd thing for Al Mualim to have on his lips as he passed on to whatever heaven or hell awaited him.

His first impulse had been to crush the thing with the broad side of his sword, but something stayed his hand, even as he heard Al Mualim taunting him. The thought had struck him that there may something he could learn from the Piece of Eden, if he could find a way to use it for good and unselfish reasons.

A hand on his shoulder jerked him out of his contemplation. He turned toward Malik and his brothers. "What you have seen must never be spoken of. It is sealed beyond the veil," he said, quoting the traditional phrase that invoked the highest level of secrecy in the Brotherhood. Breaking this oath was punishable by death. He looked at each man in turn, who nodded solemnly with their hand over their heart. Satisfied, he retrieved the Piece of Eden and, wrapping it in the folds of his tunic, headed for the library.

"What of the body?" Malik asked.

He paused, looking over his shoulder at the body of his former Master. "He was a traitor. Do as the Law demands." It pained him to say the words, despite everything. The body would be taken through the streets of Masyaf out of the city and left unburied for the carrion to consume. Malik's men moved to retrieve the corpse. .

"And the brothers and the people in the courtyard? They are gathered still," Malik said, following him inside.

"As soon as I secure this I will speak to them." He hoped the spell they were under was broken with the death of Al Mualim. What if it wasn't? How could they be helped?

"Very well. The body can be taken out afterwards, then," Malik replied.

The receptacle for the Piece of Eden was not on Al Mualim's desk and he didn't have time to seek it out at the moment. He decided that his quarters would be the safest spot to store the treasure for now. "I'll return shortly," he told Malik as he exited the library and followed the passage around to the tower stairs. Al Mualim had made him room with the novices during his brief stays at the fortress during the early days of his re-training, but luckily his rooms were kept for him.

He went to his bookshelf and removed several books, placing the Piece of Eden at the very back. Replacing the books, he stepped back and inspected the concealment and decided that it would do for the time being. He would move it to a more secure spot later.

As he rejoined Malik in the library, the cooing of the carrier pigeons reminded him of another necessary and urgent task. "We should send word to the Rafiq at the Bureaus. We must gather to choose the new Master."

"I will see to it. Some will not take the news well, I'm afraid."

"I know. Still, we must try and keep the upheaval as minimal as possible. The Brotherhood is vulnerable now. At times like this, the discipline and protocols of our Creed are shelter in the storm."

Malik smiled softly. "Spoken like a true Master."

"Your words are kind, my friend." Too kind, he thought, part of him feeling like a hypocrite for invoking discipline and protocol. He'd learned a great deal about himself over the course of his re-training, and he was grateful to Al Mualim for the lesson in humility even if it was a ruse. It was Malik, though, that ultimately had truly humbled him by offering his forgiveness. He steeled himself and went to face his brothers and the people of Masyaf.

"What's happened?!"

"What have you done?"

"Where is the Master?"

"Please tell us what's going on!"

The questions came at him at the same time from every direction. He held his hand up to call for quiet. At least they were coherent and not speaking in that eerie, almost monotone voice. It seemed they were of their own minds again.

"Al Mualim betrayed the Brotherhood," he began. There were murmurs of surprise and a couple of disbelief. "He broke the tenants of the Creed and deceived all of us in a mad quest for power over those he claimed to serve. His treachery knew no bounds, and had to be stopped. He chose death over repentance." He paused, scanning the faces and hands of those around him as they reacted to his words. Most seemed to accept what he said, having realized that they were manipulated, but a few looked as if they doubted him.

"You lie!" a voice called out. His eyes found the source right as a rock was hurled at him. His hand shot up, catching it just before it hit him in the head. Two guards grabbed the assailant, who struggled to free himself.

"Release him," he told the guards. The young man was a novice in the Brotherhood. His face wore more confusion than outright ill intent, despite the public outburst. It could be the lingering effects of the thrall. He took a step toward him. "I speak the truth. Do you not feel different, as though you'd been released from some dark sorcery?"

The novice cast his eyes downward. "Yes, I cannot deny that, but the Master wouldn't betray us." He paused a moment, suddenly unsure. "Would he?" he added, looking around for some indication from the other brothers.

"I wish it were otherwise," he answered truthfully. It would take some time for the truth to sink in, for all of them. "You all know the Law regarding the corpses of traitors." He turned and motioned for Malik's men to bring the body forward and begin the descent to the city gates and beyond. They had removed all items signifying rank or association with the Brotherhood. He averted his eyes, an action born both from tradition and discomfort. He deserves it, he reminded himself before instructing a guard detail to accompany them.

The people glanced curiously at the body of the once revered man. The brothers looked long enough to confirm that he was truly dead then turned their backs, refusing to grant any further acknowledgement or honor to the spirit of the betrayer.

When the procession had reached the gates of the fortress, he addressed the people once more. "If you have business inside the fortress, see that it's taken care of as soon as possible. Access will be restricted during the Conclave." With that, he turned and went back inside, the brothers following.

Once inside, he spoke to them. They knew about the Templars, but not the extent of their dealings and plotting. Nor did they know that the one they all looked to for wisdom and leadership – Al Mualim - had been so closely associated with them. When his recount of his missions was as complete as he could make it, he waited for it – the challenge that would surely come.

"If there any among you who have questions, speak them, now or in the future. Doubt and gossip will only serve to poison the Brotherhood and weaken us."

There were murmurs and nodding. Finally, Raoul stepped forward. "Is it true that you fought a woman?" he asked with a slight mocking tone.

He hadn't expected such a lighthearted response and tried not to let his relief show too much. "And was nearly bested," he replied with a tired smile. There was a pause, then laughter erupted.

"Why would the leader of the Templars send a woman in his stead?"

He was curious about that himself. Maria was something of an enigma. She fought valiantly and well, but surely there were others Robert de Sable could have sent. "That I do not know. I only hope that she doesn't decide to take up the mantle of leadership that de Sable's death has left vacant."

He climbed the stairs and sat – for the first time in what seemed like days - on the top step, turning the events of the past day over in his mind as he turned a throwing knife over in his fingers. His brothers milled around the library, discussing the death of Al Mualim and the upcoming Conclave and answering as many of the questions the novices had as was permitted. There hadn't been a Conclave in many, many years, and few of the younger brothers, including himself, had ever attended one.

He looked around, thinking about the future of the Brotherhood and wondering if any of those before him were prepared to lead them to it. He would do what he could to guide them, but, if he was honest with himself, he didn't want to be the Master of the Brotherhood. Not only did he not meet the traditional age requirement, he held no love for politics and even less for being tied to Masyaf by the duties of the job. Al Mualim had rarely left the fortress. Everyone came to him. No, he enjoyed the freedom his newly regained position provided him. If called, however, he may have to put selfishness aside. He looked up to see Abbas coming up the stairs toward him.

"You must be tired, Altair," Abbas said. "The ride from Arsuf, then confronting your own brothers as they attacked you - not to mention killing the Master. It makes for a long day, no?"

"Several very long days, actually. I'm afraid it's left me with little patience."

"Ah, I see. I suppose I shouldn't play with fire, then, especially when there are whispers that you may be the new Master. I can't help but wonder who will take on the role of boot polisher should you vacate the position."

"Your insults are old and tired, Abbas," he said, remembering how the man had goaded him when he'd been demoted. "Why you seem determined to persist even now is a mystery to me."

"Some habits die hard, I guess," Abbas said with a wry smile. "Look, I cannot deny that you have served the Brotherhood well. For that, I thank you. Safety and peace upon you."

The rare display of kindness caught him off guard. It was a few seconds before he responded. "Upon you as well." Abbas nodded, turned and went back downstairs.

"Wonders never cease," Malik said from behind him.

"Truly," he agreed, standing. "I'll be in my quarters if anyone needs me. It has been a long day and there's much to think about."

* * *

He closed and bolted his door, then leaned back against it, breathing in the solitude with relief. With nothing more to accomplish today, the fatigue that he'd been pushing away set in fast. He reached up and removed his hood, running his fingers through his hair. A warm bath would be nice, but the baths would be busy and he had no desire to interact with anyone else.

He sighed and began to remove the tools of his trade; sword, short blade, throwing knives, hidden blade. These things defined him. When he'd been demoted and was without them, he'd felt incomplete, though he would never have admitted it. Al Mualim had suggested that who he was and what he did was inexorably intertwined. For the most part, he agreed. He finished undressing and pulled on a pair of sleeping pants. There were parts of him that no one knew, though, not even his Master. He rubbed his eyes. Well, there was one, but that was... Habit allowed him to kill the thought before it fully formed. He walked over to the basin, leaning over and pouring water from the jug over his head.

_Al Mualim is dead_. He stared into the basin as the water dripped off of his head. _By my hand. He was like a father to me_. His breath caught in his throat. _How could he betray us so completely? How did I not see it?_ His fingers registered pain as he gripped the sides of the wooden stand tighter and tighter. Al Mualim had been a traitor, but the man had shaped, counseled and led them well. Even now his advice rang true, making the betrayal all the more bitter.

He still wasn't sure of how he'd resisted his Master's attempts to place him in thrall with the Piece of Eden, but neither was Al Mualim. It was plain that he'd intended just that, however. He would have been just like his brothers. The brothers who attacked him and kept attacking despite his efforts to dissuade them. _The brothers I had to kill_. In a swift flurry of motion, he lifted and threw the table and basin against the wall, the ceramic basin shattering.

"Master?" called a hesitant voice, obviously a novice, at his door. "Is everything alright?"

He bit back the harsh reply he almost loosed and managed to answer calmly. "Yes, everything is fine."

"Apologies for the interruption, then."

He closed his eyes and listened as the soft footsteps retreated from his door, tears sliding down his face. He rarely cried, but now in his solitude he let the emotion come. He'd pushed himself to his limits over the past few weeks and there was still much that he needed to resolve for himself in regards to what had happened.

Deciding he needed some air, he walked out onto the small balcony, leaned on the railing and stared up at the heavens, emptying his thoughts of all but the here and now. Inhaling deeply, he found the familiar scent of jasmine from the garden as it wafted on the breeze. The sights, scents and sounds of the night slowly worked to unravel and soothe his troubled mind and at last he felt like trying to sleep was not such an impossible goal. He left the shutters open when he went back inside.

When he laid his head down, he was grateful to find he felt drowsy immediately, his body's tiredness greater than his mind's machinations. Things would surely become clearer with time and contemplation. He closed his eyes and surrendered to sleep.


	2. The Conclave 2

He and Malik prepared and played hosts for the next few days, while the Bureau leaders and Assassins arrived from afield. Malik was really more suited to the task of host, but he was happy to assist where he could. He made sure the kitchens and all other provisions were well stocked for the days ahead, a challenge since no one was sure just how long the Conclave would take.

He went in search of the overseer of the garden attendants, just to make sure she knew what to expect. She smiled when she saw him approaching.

"Altair, it's been too long since you've visited," she chided. The two attendants sitting next to her giggled behind their hands as they whispered something he wished he couldn't hear.

He returned her smile with one of his own. "Forgive me, Naima. I've been somewhat busy, to say the least."

"So we've heard. What can I do for you? I sense it is not personal reasons that bring you here."

"Sadly it is not. I take it you've heard of the Conclave we're preparing for?"

"Yes, of course. I've brought in more attendants, dancers, musicians, maids and laundresses. I've ordered extra supplies which should be arriving any time now. Is there something else you would like me to do?"

_If only the Brotherhood could run as smoothly as she runs the Garden_. He shrugged. "Perhaps you can tell me why I'm here when you obviously have everything well under control?"

"And you're surprised? Tsk, tsk. Now, unless you've decided to make one of these girls' dreams come true, away with you! I'm busy," she said, standing and shooing him away.

He laughed and held up his hands. "Alright, I'm going! Thank you, Naima, and please let me know if I can be of assistance to you."

"Hmph. I expect to see you here soon, Altair. A man can't live on blade alone."

He departed the Garden, still smiling, and went to find Malik. Unless he'd forgotten something, they were as prepared as they could be for the Conclave.

* * *

When all Assassins and Elders had gathered, the gate to the fortress was closed and would remain so until a new Master had been chosen. There could be no distractions from the task before them. The novices were allowed to watch the proceedings from the galleries, but could not directly participate. Only the Elders and the high ranking Assassins would vote after much discussion and debate.

Early in the morning on day one of the Conclave, he and Malik went over the protocols required so they would be prepared. A hush fell over the assembly when they entered the chamber. He took his seat while Malik, who would be mediating the proceedings, called them to order.

As things got underway, he sat quietly and observed. The first item up for discussion was whether to strike Al Mualim from the written histories. There was much contention on the issue, since tradition dictated that traitors be erased from all records. This was a unique situation, however, since it was the Master himself who was the traitor. After all of the Elders had had their say, Malik opened the floor to the Assassins.

Several brothers spoke on both sides of the issue, and it looked as if they were split fairly evenly. Though his anger toward his Master had not yet cooled, he made himself look at the larger picture and what would most benefit the Brotherhood. He took advantage of a lull to voice his thoughts on the matter. "With all due respect to the Elders and brothers who disagree, I think it would be a mistake to discount the years of service that Al Mualim gave to the Brotherhood. He was not always a traitor. Have we not benefited from his wisdom and leadership and become stronger for it? Let his betrayal stand as a lesson that even the best of men is vulnerable to the temptations of power."

"That you of all people have such generous words for him humbles me," Saleem, the most senior Elder commented. He had spoken in favor of honoring tradition.

_Never harbor hatred for your enemies_. He recalled the sage advice given to him by Al Mualim somewhat bitterly.

"Does anyone else wish to speak on the issue?" Malik asked after a few moments of silence passed. When no one spoke he called for a vote, which though close, resulted in the memory of Al Mualim being preserved.

With that settled they moved on to their main task. The preliminary nominations put forth by the Elders were unsurprisingly for those of their own rank. While they would have the advantage of experience, he wasn't sure that was sufficient. Ghassan, the Bureau leader from Acre, broke from the pattern and nominated him. There was much made of his age and recent troubles, the latter mostly from Abbas, but there was also support from what he considered unlikely sources. It was odd being talked about as if he wasn't there.

Occasionally, someone got insulted or a heated debate ensued, but Malik would intervene and bring them back to peaceful discourse. He was impressed by his friend's diplomatic skills.

The morning, afternoon and early evening passed with no resolution, as did the next day and the day after. That evening, after they'd retired, Malik appeared at his door. They hadn't really had a chance to talk since the Conclave started.

"You've been very quiet in there, brother," Malik observed.

"I suppose so, but it isn't my place to speak while the Elders have the floor. You, though…you've been a very effective mediator."

Malik rolled his eyes. "Not that effective, if the length of the speeches is any indication. Can we not impose a time limit?"

He laughed. "You knew the job was dangerous when you took it."

"Yes, yes. I'm just afraid I'm going to nod off, especially if Rashad launches into one of his history lessons again," he sighed dramatically. "I know I shouldn't be so disrespectful. Anyway, what are your thoughts of the proceedings thus far?"

"We seem to be making little progress so far, but the history says that these things often take days, even weeks. We may be stuck here awhile." He paused, then decided to divulge what had been dominating his thoughts. "I have an idea. One that will most likely cause an uproar."

"You? Create an uproar? I'm shocked," Malik quipped. "What is this idea?"

"I will present it tomorrow, if given the opportunity. Perhaps you could help with that?"

"If the Elders finish, then it will be our turn. I don't think anyone would argue with you speaking first. You're pretty much the only Assassin in the running."

"I think you're mistaken, there. Rashad has mentioned you more than once."

"Rashad has about as much influence as a novice," Malik replied. He gave him a curious look. "You are going to refuse if they offer it to you, aren't you?"

"Not exactly. What I am proposing is a Council of leadership."

"A Council? You mean no more Master? Tell me you're joking. Was it not you who recently reminded me that it is the discipline and protocols of our Creed that keep us strong?"

"I believe a Council would better serve the Brotherhood. It would ensure that no one man holds all the power, thus avoiding what happened with Al Mualim."

"They'll never agree to it. You're talking about disrupting tradition. We've always had a Master, Altair."

He sat down on his bed. "Just because it is tradition doesn't mean it is not flawed, nor does it mean that there's not a better way. Think about it, that's all I ask for now, though I could certainly use your support."

Malik paced slowly back and forth. "On the surface it makes sense, I'll give you that. You realize how it will look to some of the brothers, though. Not everyone is convinced that you have changed. They will see it as more arrogance if you come in trying to put aside years of order and tradition."

"I had not thought of that," he said, frowning as he considered that possibility.

"Let us both think more on it, then. We'll speak in the morning. Safety and peace, friend."

"Rest well, brother. Tomorrow will be interesting, I'm sure."

With a laugh and a nod, Malik left him to his thoughts. At least he hadn't immediately balked at the idea. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that it was the only way to take the Brotherhood into the future. Malik was right, though. It would be hard to convince the Elders and many of his brothers.

* * *

It was mid-day before Saleem declared that the Elders were ready to yield the floor to the Assassins.

"As the Assassin of highest rank, Altair has the privilege of speaking first, but uncharacteristically chooses to speak last," Malik said, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. There was a brief ripple of laughter through the room. "So I will begin by saying that he has my nomination and my complete confidence."

He smiled and shook his head, wondering what exactly his friend was trying to accomplish. He was grateful for the support, but as for the nomination, Malik knew what he had in mind.

"You're too generous with your confidence, Malik," Abbas commented with his usual smugness.

"And your point is?" Malik replied.

"You are the obvious choice, brother."

"I thank you for the sentiment, but I fail to see the connection."

"Given all that has occurred, I find little reason to trust Altair as a brother, much less as a potential Master. He's proven himself volatile and dangerous. It was only a short while ago that he openly threatened my life." Abbas paused for dramatic effect.

"If it were not for Altair, we would all be mindless drones!" one of the novices yelled from the galleries.

"Novices are not permitted to speak during the proceedings," Malik reminded them.

Abbas continued. "Yes, he freed us from Al Mualim, but one good deed does not a Master make. You, on the other hand, have displayed all of the traits of a true and loyal servant of the Brotherhood. Why you allow yourself to be lost in his shadow is beyond me. He has brought nothing but suffering to you and will bring nothing but suffering to us all should we be foolish enough to deliver the Brotherhood into his hands."

As much as his anger burned to rebuke the things said about him, he decided to remain quiet. He would not give the fool the satisfaction of an argument. He had regretted threatening to lodge his blade in his throat, but was reconsidering that at the moment.

Malik responded. "There was a time, not so long ago, when I would have agreed with you. But no longer. Altair has more than proven himself. Ask any of the Bureau leaders. As to losing myself in his shadow, better to be striving in the shadow of greatness than happy in the blindness of ignorance."

He had to cover his face and choke down an entirely inappropriate laugh at the last comment, and as he looked around he saw that he wasn't alone. It was quite obvious who was happy in the blindness of ignorance. He chastised himself and straightened up in his chair, mindful of the eyes of the novices peering down on them all.

Some of the other brothers spoke in turn, nominating himself, Malik, Ghassan and Saleem, with no clear majority, which suited his idea quite well, actually.

By the time all who wished to had spoken, the moon was well on her way into the sky. Malik asked if there any more nominations or comments, and finding none, nodded in his direction. They shared a look that acknowledged the potential chaos he was about to unleash.

He took a deep breath and stood. "Let me begin by saying that I am grateful to even be among you."

"And we are grateful to you, Altair," Ghassan interjected.

"Thank you, brother. I must confess that the past weeks have been challenging on many levels. I've learned much, yet there's much that remains a mystery. I've come to the conclusion that the best I can do is take what lessons can be found and move forward. My only wish is to see the Brotherhood protected and strong. I hope you will all take what I am about to propose in that spirit.

We were lucky to survive the plotting of Al Mualim. As I said, he contributed a great deal to the Brotherhood, but at the end held us at his mercy. One man came close to destroying everything we stand for." There were nods and a few whispered curses in response. "I believe we should learn from that experience and guard against it in the future. To accomplish this, I propose that instead of one man, one Master, that we elect a Council to lead us."

Dead silence followed, and as he looked around at his brothers, he saw confusion, disbelief and more than a few angry faces. A quiet murmuring built rapidly into a din of voices and laughter.

"You cannot be serious!"

"Let him finish!"

"That is not our way."

The comments being thrown around were much what he'd expected. He waited until the furor died down before continuing. "I understand that our traditions are sacred. But to uphold tradition for its own sake when circumstances change is misguided and dangerous to us all." He glanced out the window. "The hour is late and we are all tired. I only ask that you all consider what I've put forth and bring your concerns and questions to the table tomorrow when we convene."

"Yes, unless there are objections, I think it best if we retire for the evening," Malik said. After most everyone had filed out, he came over and slapped him on the back. "Well that went well."

"I suppose I should be happy that they didn't throw me from the rampart," he replied.

"I don't know about you, but I am in need of strong drink and distraction."

"As tempting as that is, I should keep my wits about me. Enjoy your debauchery, though," he smiled and dropped his voice to a whisper. "And that comment to Abbas? Brilliant."

Malik laughed. "Heh. I thought so."

On his way out he spotted Saleem, who motioned for him to join him. "These old bones have been sitting for too long. Walk with me a little while and tell me more of this revolutionary idea of yours."

"As you wish, though in truth there's not much to tell that I haven't spoken already."

"This Council, how many would comprise it?"

"Five. An odd number to prevent quagmires when decisions must be made, and enough to guard against conspiracy. And I thought it may be prudent to have it written that no more than three of the Council may be away at any given time."

"Hmm, yes. I see the logic in it. Would you be willing to serve on the Council?"

"If called, yes."

"But you do not want to be Master."

"It is a difficult question. I owe the Brotherhood my life, however, and will serve if asked."

Saleem chuckled. "You are so young, Altair. For one as young as yourself or Malik to give up their freedom is a lot to ask. A Council would allow you to serve while still maintaining some of that freedom."

"I cannot deny that that had occurred to me as I pondered the idea." He wondered if he was truly that transparent or if it was Saleem's age and wisdom that had seen into his heart. "And you, brother? Do you want to be Master?"

"Want? As you said, it's a difficult question to answer, but of course I would serve if called. Unlike you, however, my days of craving freedom and experience are behind me. I'm not long for this world."

"Don't say such things."

"Why? It's the truth and I'm perfectly at peace with it. I just would hate for the brothers to have to go through this process again so soon!" he said with a laugh. "Now I must bid you goodnight, young one. I thank you for indulging an old man's curiosity. It eases my mind to know that the Brotherhood has ones such as yourself to look after it when I'm gone."

"It is I who should thank you, Saleem. Rest well, brother." He nodded and headed in the direction of his quarters. He felt better after speaking with Saleem, who despite his humility, held a lot of influence among the brothers. While he didn't come right out and endorse his idea, he was fairly certain that the Elder would at least give it careful thought.

As he started to round the corner he almost ran right into Abbas. He rolled his eyes and went to step around him, but Abbas stepped with him, blocking his progress. Abbas walked forward, forcing him to take two steps back. "Move aside," he warned. "I have no desire to trade barbs with you."

"Nor I you. The time for that has passed. Ironic that you mention barbs, though."

He saw Abbas' eyes flick away to something behind him and instinct made him quickly spin to the left. He saw a man whose face was covered standing a few yards back. He stared at the man's eyes, but couldn't identify him. The man waved at him, which struck him as very odd. Suddenly he felt something stinging his leg and looked down to see a small dart lodged in his thigh. His vision began to swim. _Poison?_ He looked at Abbas. "What…what have you done?" he asked as his knees buckled beneath him.

Abbas grabbed his face. "I have protected the Brotherhood from falling into the hands of another egotistical madman," he hissed before shoving him to the ground. His entire body had gone numb. Everything was spinning, there was a loud roaring in his ears, and then there was nothing.


	3. The Conclave 3

_Pain_. Somewhere in the fog his mind was trapped in, pain made itself known. It seemed to come from everywhere, like he was burning alive.

* * *

_Voices. Close_. Someone was touching him and speaking to him. He struggled to focus.

"Can you hear me?" the voice said.

_Yes_. Blinding pain descended on him, an explosion of red in his mind.

* * *

_Light_. He opened his eyes and found himself in a bed. There was someone singing. _Familiar_. He turned toward the sound. "Adah?"

"What?" She turned, then laughed. "Why do you look at me as if I'm a ghost?" she said, coming and sitting beside him. "Were you dreaming again, Angel?" she leaned down and kissed him, her lips so soft and familiar. _Can't be real_. He reached up and touched her hair, the caress releasing the warm scent of sandalwood. _Am I dead?_

* * *

_Awake_. His eyes fluttered open, the light that greeted them causing him to quickly close them again. Slowly opening them a second time, he was alarmed when he didn't recognize his surroundings. Sitting up, he looked at his arms and chest, which bore the signs of long exposure to the sun, with large blisters in the process of healing. _What-_ His thought was interrupted by the sight of a small child peering around the door frame at him. As their eyes met, she turned and ran away. He could hear her calling "Mama, he's awake!"

As he waited for the mother's appearance he wondered how he came to be here, but try as he might, he could not recall.

"Praise God! It is good to see you awake," the woman said as she came into the room. She had a kindly look to her; her eyes reflecting genuine concern. He tried to speak to her, but only managed a dry cough. She poured some water from a carafe and handed him the cup. He looked down at the water, then sniffed it and took a sip.

"Drink! Your body needs it," she said, sensing his caution. It tasted fine and felt wonderful going down. He took another drink as the woman continued.

"I am Habiba. My husband Yusef found you lying out in the middle of nowhere. It's a miracle that he and my son happened to be watering their horses off of the road, otherwise they would never have spotted you. You were close to death. Do you remember what happened to you?"

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Everything is still hazy," he answered. "How long have I been here?"

"Eight days. Given the state you were in, I'd say you had been lying exposed for at least a day."

She reached toward his face and he jerked back instinctively. "It's ok. I only wanted to check the wound on the side of your head."

"Oh." he said, somewhat apologetically, and allowed her to turn his head, flinching slightly when she pressed the wound to check for infection. It dawned on him that this woman and her family had saved his life.

"You obviously took a beating before being left to die. You were poisoned, as well, though I do not know exactly what manner of poison it was. I am only a midwife."

His heart skipped a beat. _Poison?_ In a flash it came back to him – Abbas. He lay back against the wall, feeling lightheaded as his pulse raced. "How far are we from Masyaf?" he asked.

"Masyaf? A day's ride." She reached for the salve on the bedside table and began applying it to his wounds and blisters. "Don't get any wild ideas. You're still far too weak to travel."

He'd been away for nine days – maybe longer. What had happened with the Conclave? He reached up and gingerly rubbed his jaw, which ached along with most of his body. _I must get back to the fortress_. Habiba was right, though. He felt as weak as a lamb.

"You're him, aren't you? The missing Assassin?" she asked, pointing to his left hand.

He didn't know what to say at first. He didn't want to lie, but he didn't want to put his hosts in any danger. Finally he just nodded, watching her face for her reaction.

Habiba smiled. "We are honored to have you in our home, Altair Ibn La'Ahad. The news of your disappearance is all over the kingdom. I know your brothers will be glad to discover that you are alive."

_Some more than others_. "Most would not be as kind and generous to an Assassin."

"My grandfather was an Assassin," she explained as she patted his hand and got up. "Rest now. I will bring you something to eat shortly. If you can eat you will regain your strength faster."

"Thank you, Habiba."

* * *

Another day and night passed as he recuperated. When he wasn't sleeping, he spent the time meditating to help speed the healing process, or chatting with Habiba, Yusef or Adara, their daughter. Habiba tried every waking moment to get him to eat, and he did, as much as he could. He was napping when a familiar voice woke him.

"Good God. Half of my men are out risking their lives, scouring the kingdom to find you, and here you are sleeping like a babe, being coddled and spoiled."

He grinned as he opened his eyes and sat up. "You have no idea how glad I am to be insulted by you, brother."

Malik leaned down and hugged him. "I thought you were dead."

"I would have been were it not for Yusef and Habiba. I take it they sent word to you?"

Malik nodded. "Who was it that did this to you, brother?"

"It should come as no surprise. It was Abbas. The coward poisoned me and left me for dead on the side of the road. He did not act alone, however. There was another there, though I do not know who."

"Abbas? I knew he had something to do with it! He's been the picture of worry and concern since you vanished. A plague upon his foul head!"

"He will have more trouble than a plague upon his head as soon as I regain my strength, trust me on that. Does anyone else know that I'm alive?"

"Saleem and Ghassan. They are the only ones I spoke to before leaving, and they both were sworn to secrecy. I came here alone."

"Good. Tell no one. I want Abbas to think he is well rid of me."

"As you wish, brother. How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been through nine hells. It will be a couple days yet before I am well enough to make the trip."

"So you wish to remain here, then?"

He nodded. "Habiba and Yusef have been very kind to me, but I think Habiba would strap me to the bed if I attempted to leave before she thinks it time."

"It's better if you do not return until you are stronger anyway. Things are crazy at the fortress. The Conclave went on after your disappearance, though I asked for a delay in the proceedings. Even though the majority insisted on continuing, most would not speak – afraid to continue and afraid to break tradition. When it became apparent that nothing was going to be accomplished I finally put my foot down and called for adjournment until you were found."

He laughed softly. "It seems I am capable of causing chaos even when I'm not there."

"I would expect nothing less when you are involved, my friend. Now, I should go before the neighbors get curious."

"I have no weapons. Could you spare one?"

"I will leave my short blade. Just be sure that you return it. I'm rather fond of it."

"I will soon return it to you personally, brother, Fates willing," he said, extending his hand.

Malik shook his hand. "I look forward to it. Let me know if you have need of anything else. Safety and peace, Altair."

"Safety and peace."

Habiba stuck her head in the door. "Are you hungry?"

He laughed. If he stayed here much longer he would be too fat to do his job. "No, perhaps a little later. Thank you, though."

"Alright. You let me know if I can get you something."

"How did you know to send word to Malik?"

"In your delirium, you talked sometimes. His was one of the names you repeated. Yusef made some discreet inquiries and discovered his identity."

"Ah. You said one of the names. There were others I spoke?"

"Yes. Al Mualim was one, Abbas another, and Adah."

He recalled that he had dreamed of Adah, but couldn't quite summon it from his memory. It was probably for the best.

"Is she your wife – Adah? I mean, we could send word…"

He looked down at his hands. "No. Adah is…she's not my wife."

"Yet you love her. Why do you not marry her?" she teased, unaware of the discomfort she was causing him.

He wondered exactly what he'd said while out of his mind, but couldn't bring himself to ask. "Forgive me, Habiba, but I suddenly find myself incredibly tired. If you don't mind, I think I will finish my nap."

"Of course. Maybe you will be hungry when you awaken," she said with a grin and left him alone.

He lay down and closed his eyes, willing her to not appear in his mind, while knowing full well that she would. How long had it been now, since that night they fought? He'd been such a stubborn fool. Maybe someday he'd get the chance to apologize to her.

* * *

When he was well enough to make the journey home, Yusef loaned him a horse and clothing. Habiba had, unsurprisingly, packed food into the saddlebag. When all was in readiness, he stood, overwhelmed with gratitude to these kind souls who had helped him so much.

"I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you both. If there ever comes a day when you are in need of anything, be assured that I will see it done. Promise me that you will not hesitate to send word to me."

Yusef smiled and embraced him. "That is not necessary, son. We are glad to have helped."

"Still, I will not depart until I have your promise."

"Very well. You have my word on it," Yusef replied.

He hugged Habiba. "You are a remarkable woman, Habiba. I don't know that I've met anyone with a heart as big as yours."

She laughed. "Oh stop." When they broke off he saw that she had tears in her eyes. "You be careful, and come and visit us when things are settled."

"I will do that," he replied. There was an awkward moment when it became apparent that there was nothing else to say, though part of him wished there were. He took a breath and climbed on the horse. "Safety and peace, friends."

"To you as well, Altair," Yusef said.

He flicked the reins and began the journey home.

* * *

As he entered Masyaf he was glad the moon was dark. His borrowed clothing ensured he would not be recognized from afar if he was careful. He wasn't sure if the fortress gate would be open or not, given the postponement of the Conclave. There were other ways in, ways that he'd discovered as a mischievous child, but they required strenuous climbing and he wished to conserve his strength.

He found the gate was closed as he got closer and dismounted. Yusef had assured him that the horse could find its way home from anywhere. He patted the horse's flank. "You have my thanks, friend. Go home." He watched the horse canter off down the hill.

He observed for a moment and discovered only one guard posted inside the gate. He approached, head down.

"Who goes there?" the guard asked.

He looked up and saw the recognition dawn on the guard's face. He held up a finger to his lips and whispered "Shhh…" The guard nodded and opened the gate.

"Tell no one of my arrival," he instructed as he entered.

"As you wish. Thank God you have returned, Altair," the guard whispered.

The hour served him well and he met no one on his way. Knowing Abbas, he headed first to the Garden. As he passed through the doorway gate, he had to quickly skirt to the right when several of his brothers – some of whom he'd seen with Abbas on past occasions - emerged from the inner chambers, laughing and boisterous. They continued on and gathered under the gazebo to continue their drinking and frivolity. He watched from the shadows. Sure enough, Abbas soon exited the same door.

He circled around, staying out of sight. When Abbas paused to count his coin, he quickly closed the distance between them and soundlessly came up behind him. He leaned forward and whispered "Death has come for you, Abbas."

Abbas spun around, wild eyed with surprise. "You! No, it's not possible!"

The other brothers ceased their joking and gathered around the commotion. There were shocked whispers as they recognized him.

"Confess your crime before I send you from this world," he said.

Abbas shook his head. "No, No! Brothers, this madman is trying to kill me!"

None of them moved to intervene, whether through loyalty or fear he knew not. "You have one last chance to purge your soul. Confess!"

"My soul is clean! I sought only to protect the Brotherhood."

"What did you do, Abbas?" Saraq asked him.

Abbas turned to face his brothers. "He will destroy us, don't you all see? Join me now – let us finish him for good!"

"You are no better than Al Mualim," Saraq said, spitting at Abbas. The others stared coldly at him.

"Komar, surely you will stand with me, brother?" Abbas said hopefully.

Komar shook his head. "No. What you have done is beyond despicable."

Altair heard a sound behind him and quickly drew his blade and blocked an attack by the same accomplice who'd poisoned him. He spun and drove his blade into the man's back. When he reached down and uncovered the man's face, he discovered a mere boy underneath; worse, a novice. He shook his head, then turned toward Abbas. "You send a novice to do your dirty work?! You are less than a coward!"

Having accepted the reality of his imminent death, Abbas fell to his knees. "Mercy, brother…please."

The action only inflamed his anger all the more. "Stand and face me!"

Abbas remained kneeling. "I've only tried to do what I thought best."

"You've carried this petty vendetta since we were children. And as ever, your only thought was what was best for yourself, not for the Brotherhood." He recognized the selfishness well since he himself had been guilty of it in the past, a thought that gave him pause. _Should I allow him to live; extend him mercy where he had none for me or the novice he corrupted?_ He stared at him, considering his options as he wiped the blood off of Malik's blade. "Where are my weapons?"

"In my quarters, in the box beneath my bed."

He reached out and quickly snapped Abbas' traitorous neck, which was all the mercy he could muster. Stepping over the body, he went to retrieve his weapons. When he saw Malik standing in the doorway, he drew the short blade and returned it to him.

"Welcome home, brother," Malik said, taking the blade.

"It is good to be home, Malik. I'm very tired, though, so if you don't mind, we will speak tomorrow. Right now I just want to retrieve my weapons and go to bed."

"It is to be expected, given your ordeal. I'll have some food and wine sent to your quarters."

"Thank you."

"Welcome home, Altair," Raoul said as he passed. The sentiment was echoed as word quickly spread of his return and his brothers came to greet him. It lightened his heart somewhat, though the death of the novice troubled him.

Once in his quarters, he laid his weapons on the table and immediately moved his bed. He knelt down, removing two stones from the floor, exhaling with relief to see that the Piece of Eden had not been discovered. He replaced the stones and his bed and opened the shutters to let the night air into his rooms. Glancing down to the Garden below, he saw that the bodies had already been removed.

After having a cup of wine and some fruit, he collapsed into bed, exhausted. As sleep claimed him, he heard the faint sound of someone playing a harp, the melody melancholy and sweet.


	4. The Conclave 4

The next morning he sought out Malik to confer on where things stood. He found him in the library, sitting at the desk that had belonged to Al Mualim.

"Getting a little practice in for when you are named Master?"

"Very funny," Malik replied dryly. "You certainly seem to be feeling better."

"I slept well," he replied, noticing that Malik had that look about him that told him his friend had something on his mind. "What troubles you, brother?"

"Did you have to kill him, Altair?"

"Abbas?" he asked, surprised.

"He asked for mercy."

"And I showed mercy," he said bluntly. This was not what he expected to hear from Malik, of all people. "Am I to assume from your question that you see it otherwise?"

"Perhaps he did not have to die."

He pointed at Malik and opened his mouth to reply, then stopped and took a breath, trying to reel in the old anger that spiked whenever anyone questioned him. He heard Abbas' voice in his mind. _Some habits die hard_. He shook his head. The irony was not lost on him. He took another breath before replying, if not calmly, then at least controlled. "I did consider it, Malik. But not only did he leave me to die, he polluted the mind of a novice – a novice whose blood is on my hands, thanks to him. He was most assuredly _not_ deserving of any further mercy."

Malik dropped his eyes and fell silent.

"Would you truly have had me let him live?"

"I wanted to kill him myself when I returned."

"Then why do you question my decision?"

Malik shook his head. "Augh. It's not that I wouldn't have done the same in your shoes. I don't question your decision – not really. I just think the timing is extremely unfortunate. You are close to attaining your vision of a Council, which I've decided is not such a horrible idea, by the way, but there are a few who waver. Something like this could cause them to reject it."

He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Those who support Abbas were unlikely to support the idea, anyway, if only because it came from me." Now that he knew the reasoning behind Malik's questioning, his anger cooled.

"You have a point," Malik said.

"I'm glad to hear that you agree with the idea of a Council. Could you not have just told me you were concerned instead of being such an ass?" He reached out and thumped Malik on the head.

Malik chuckled and kicked him in the leg. "I consider it my solemn duty to take any opportunity to annoy you."

"You are exceedingly good at fulfilling that duty."

"It is good to have you home, even if you do cause trouble."

He shrugged. "I do not cause trouble." Malik shot him a doubtful look, raising his eyebrows. He sat on the edge of the desk and tried to play innocent before breaking into a guilty smile. "Most of the time. It just seems to find me." He picked up one of Malik's compasses and twirled it before stabbing it repeatedly into the wooden desk. "Did I miss anything besides the Conclave?"

"The same petty gossip and intrigue that is life here at Masyaf. Nothing worth mentioning." Malik reached over and snatched the compass out of his hand, giving an exasperated sigh. "That is not a toy, Altair. Do you feel well enough to reconvene?"

"I do. The sooner, the better."

"I will make the announcement that we begin at mid-day, then."

He nodded and walked over to the banister; looking around to be sure they were alone. He spotted no one, save the guards and two Instructors downstairs. He returned to the desk. "I need to show you where I have hidden the Piece of Eden. If I had not survived Abbas' treachery, who knows what would have become of it."

"I wondered about it and prayed that you had hidden it well," Malik said. "You haven't mentioned it since that day. Do you have a plan?"

"Once we have the Brotherhood stabilized, then we can deal with it. I suppose we should try to decipher what knowledge it holds," he replied. It seemed a huge task that may take years to unravel.

"I think it wise to keep its true nature sealed, for the safety of all."

"Yes. I do feel guilt for keeping it from the brothers, though."

"As do I, but the greater good is served by doing so," Malik pointed out.

He walked to the window and gazed out toward the horizon. "There will come a day, possibly soon, that the Templars will come for it again, I'm sure of it."

"They can try, but they will fail," Malik boasted, before adding in a booming voice, "So it is written!"

He smiled at the phrase. It was something they'd started when they were boys, making fun of Rashad and his long history lectures. "I'm going to take my morning practice. Care to join me in the training ring?"

"No. It will take me until mid-day to get the word out to everyone. But by all means, go and enjoy yourself while I work."

He rolled his eyes. "I will return shortly to help you, brother."

"Sure, sure," Malik replied.

He turned and leapt over the banister, landing perfectly in the middle of the staircase below, causing several of the guards to startle.

"Show off!" Malik called after him.

"Just making sure everyone is awake," he quipped before exiting the library.

* * *

He made use of the training equipment to practice with his throwing knives. It wasn't long before the Weapon Master recruited him to spend some time sparring and giving advice to some of the younger Assassins.

He waited patiently for his opponents to advance from either side of him. He heard a sharp intake of breath from behind him and spun to avoid the strike from Lepal, then used the momentum to come up beside Kadeem, hitting him in the stomach with the hilt of his sword and sending him stumbling backwards.

Lepal lunged at him. He quickly jumped aside and swung down with his sword, hitting Lepal's back with the broad side. Lepal surprised him, though, recovering quickly, turning and coming at him again with an overhand sweep. He blocked in time, pushing him off with his foot. He momentarily lost sight of Kadeem, though, and paid for it with a blow to his side.

"Getting rusty in your old age, Altair?" Kadeem gloated.

He laughed. "Luck took pity on you for once, brother."

They went a few more rounds before he broke off the session. He loved training, but he'd been out here for a while now and Malik would think he'd forgotten his promise. "You both have improved since we last sparred. Lepal, you still give yourself away with your breath."

"His breath is enough to kill without a sword," Kadeem interjected.

"And you left yourself wide open," he said to Kadeem as he left the ring. "Safety and peace, brothers. I look forward to humiliating you both again soon."

"Still arrogant as ever," Lepal muttered.

"When you are as good as he is, you can get away with it," Kadeem replied with a chuckle.

* * *

There were many warm greetings from his brothers when they reconvened at mid-day. Abbas' closest friends avoided him, as expected. After everyone settled in their seats, he stood. "Please forgive my absence, brothers, it was… unplanned," he addressed the assembly and took his seat. There was a round of laughter in reply.

"Let us get underway, then," Malik began. "When we last met, Altair had put forth the proposition that we elect a Council to lead us."

A couple hisses rang out, but not the level of protest he'd faced when he first put the idea on the table. He was cautiously optimistic.

As ever, the Elders were the first to speak. Saleem stood, leaning on his cane for support. "When Altair introduced this radical idea, my first impulse was to resist. We are nothing without our traditions, our rituals."

"Which is why this idea is wrong for us," Rashad interjected, initiating a flurry of comments on both sides of the issue.

Saleem raised his hand. "Yet we cannot enslave ourselves to it. Remember the teachings of our Creed. Laws arise from reason, brothers, not tradition. Reason tells me that this idea has merit; that it will serve us well and see us prosper." With that, Saleem sat down.

He couldn't have asked for a better argument, or a more powerful ally.

The discussion went on until evening, when Malik adjourned them. "I will call for a vote after our mid-day break tomorrow. If any of you wish to speak in the morning, I suggest you see me this evening to secure your spot."

"Malik's head is swelling, I think," one of the brothers joked.

"No, I simply feel the time has come to put this measure to a vote. Should it pass, we will have hours more work hammering out the details and who will serve. If it fails, we still have to elect a Master," Malik replied, gathering his papers. "Safety and peace, brothers."

Later that night, he visited the baths. As expected, he found lively debate among the brothers. Sometimes heated, but civilized, for the most part. Of course, as the night wore on and the wine flowed, the seriousness gave way to mirth. When he left he felt more confident that the Council may be approved, though several influential brothers stubbornly refused to sway their opinion that it was practically heresy.

As he was approaching the gate, Naima's voice called to him from the gazebo. "Not by blade alone, Altair."

He smiled and turned around. "I appreciate your concern, Naima. My mind is rather occupied with the Conclave at the moment. Perhaps tomorrow." The sound of conspiratorial female giggling followed him out of the Garden.

* * *

The time seemed to move at a snail's pace as he sat in the assembly hall the next morning listening to his brothers speak for and against the Council. The arguments all began to sound the same, the same points for or against being presented again and again by different brothers. It was important that all have their say, but he couldn't help but wish that Malik would intervene and call for the vote. He absent-mindedly drummed his hands on his legs until Raoul reached over and stilled them, giving him a look of consternation.

He retreated to the far edge of the Garden at the mid-day break for a little solitude and centering to help quell the anxiety he was feeling about the upcoming vote. As he sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the terrace, he spotted two eagles circling, riding the updrafts from the valley below. It was a beautiful sight; an easy way to unburden his mind for a few minutes. He'd tasted flight, both in visions and in his waking life, as close as a man could come to it anyway. It was an incredible feeling of freedom, exhilaration and a bit of fear from the knowledge that any jump could be the last. It always left him wanting more.

When the bell tolled calling the brothers back, he took a deep breath and went to discover the fate of his revolutionary idea, as Saleem had coined it.

Once all were seated and settled, Malik called for a show of hands in favor of the Council. He closed his eyes briefly, then forced himself to open them and scan the hall. A small number raised their hands immediately and slowly, others started to rise until there was an undeniable majority. He exhaled the breath he'd been holding.

"Brothers, today we begin a new chapter," Malik said, nodding toward him with a smile. Applause broke out, and soon the hall reverberated with it. He noted that a few brothers walked out, angry with the results. The insult was slight, however, given that the overwhelming majority were celebrating.

Slowly, heads began to turn his way and the din died down. He stood, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Let us waste no time in electing those who will sit on the Council. I propose five…"

* * *

"May all the gods that ever were help us," Malik said, raising his cup for a toast.

He tapped his cup to Malik's. "We're going to need all the help we can get."

"Indeed, especially with Rashad on the Council," Malik agreed.

The election had been quick, with those who already had support being named to the Council: Himself, Malik, Saleem, Ghassan and Rashad. It was a fair balance of age, wisdom, knowledge and skill, one that he thought would work well. There were still details to decide, but the major task was done.

"I am tired, brother. I think I will retire to my bed," Malik said, getting up from the table. He went to leave, but suddenly paused. "I don't have to call you Master now, do I?"

"I do not know. Perhaps you should ask Rashad for the protocol involved," he answered, standing up. "I still outrank you, though."

"I could beat you with one hand tied behind my back," Malik shot back.

"I will take you up on that challenge tomorrow, brother. Right now, I go to heed the advice of a friend."

Malik looked at him curiously. "And what advice is that?"

He smiled. "A man cannot live on blade alone."


	5. What Price Wisdom? 1

Masyaf, One Month Later

_Altair moved through the library and paused at the gate to the Garden. His eye was drawn down to the middle terrace by a hooded figure holding a familiar glowing object. His heart skipped a beat. __How?_

_He drew his sword and walked forward. The figure did not move a muscle as he approached and stopped a few feet away. He had half expected that Al Mualim had somehow managed to betray death itself, but the figure was slighter than that of his former Master. The Piece of Eden glowed in its gloved hand. The shadows and the hood of the black cloak he wore hid the face of the intruder._

_He raised his sword toward the figure. "You have precious few moments to drop that and explain yourself," he threatened._

_Laughter replied, smooth and melodious. He could not discern if it was male or female._

_He stepped closer, until his sword was a scant foot away. "Drop it. Now."_

_The figure tossed the treasure into the air._

_His eyes followed after it, though he knew well that you never took your eye off of the enemy. He lost it somewhere in the sky._

_The black cloak billowed out, jerking his attention back._

_"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You disappoint me, Altair," the figure said, holding his hand out to show that somehow, the treasure had never left his hand._

_The voice was much like the laughter – soothing, almost. Androgynous, layered, multi-faceted. It sent a shiver up his spine._

_"Who are you?" _

_The moonlight revealed the smallest glimpse of the figures face; the lips that curled into a smile. Then it was lost in shadow once more. "Who would you like me to be, Son of None?"_

_"Enough! Speak sense or taste steel!"_

_The figure took a quick step toward him. He dodged to the side and swung his sword down. It sank into the cloak, meeting no resistance for the full arc. He took a half-step back, shocked. The cloak settled into a heap on the ground, empty. He knelt, searching under the cloak for the treasure, becoming increasingly frantic with the seemingly endless fabric. He burrowed beneath it and felt it suffocating him, but did not cease his search._

_Finally, his lungs bursting, he could stand it no longer. The fabric was a liquid inky blackness, drowning him. He clawed and fought his way through it, emerging at last, gasping at the air. He sat back on his heels, angry and frustrated. The Piece of Eden was gone._

_The laughter rang out all around him._

His whole body jerked as he woke from the dream. It took a moment for the world to right itself and his heartbeat to return to normal. He wiped his face, puzzling over the strange figure in the dream and wondering what it could mean. It was probably his inner mind berating him for his inaction regarding the Piece of Eden.

He could almost feel it there, under the floor beneath his bed. He had procrastinated about dealing with it. Now that things had stabilized and the leadership of the Brotherhood was in place, he knew he couldn't put it off any longer.

He'd spoken with Malik and they'd agreed that there may be some good that could come from it. Viewing the cursed thing together seemed a perilous prospect. They were still unsure of how it worked. What if one of them fell under the thrall? Was it reversible?

So many unknown quantities. He disliked such uncertainty.

_Tomorrow_. For better or worse, he would begin tomorrow. The decision made, he rolled over and went back to sleep.

* * *

Things had been quiet at Masyaf. The repercussions of the assassinations of those involved with perpetuating the war were still reverberating, though the fighting hadn't ceased as he and the rest of the Brotherhood had hoped. King Richard had left Arsuf and taken Jaffa only a few days later.

He entered the library and climbed the steps. He had a strong feeling of déjà vu as the Garden gate came into view and despite himself, he walked out and scanned the area. Finding no mysterious hooded figures, he laughed to himself and continued to his original destination: the meeting room off of the library. The rest of the Council was already assembled.

"Good morning, brothers," he said, bowing slightly.

"Safety and peace, Altair," Saleem returned. The others nodded to him.

"Let us get underway, then," Rashad said, ever impatient. "What news from Jaffa, Malik?"

"Our spies continue their surveillance. Al Adil leaves for Jaffa in four days," Malik said. "We have word that there is a faction of hard-liners who may try to prevent him from ever arriving."

"Does Saladin know of this?" Altair asked, leaning against the column.

"Of course he's aware that there are plenty who oppose any negotiations with the Crusaders, but whether he knows of this particular plot…" Malik shrugged. "I think not, but he will surely send an elite guard to accompany his brother."

"Perhaps we should send our own elite to ensure that no harm comes to Al Adil," he said.

"I think that would be wise," Rashad agreed. "It is vital that the negotiations take place. With the winter soon upon us and the fighting minimal, peace is tantalizingly close."

"Altair, you should go," Ghassan interjected. Rashad and Saleem nodded their agreement.

"I'm sure you're itching to get away from Masyaf for a while," Malik said, leaning his chair back on two legs.

It was true. He loved Masyaf, but the walls seemed to be closing in lately. He thought for a moment and found no reason he should not undertake the mission. "Very well. I will leave first thing tomorrow," he said.

"I don't suppose you would consider taking a novice with you?" Malik asked with a smile.

"I'd rather not," he quickly replied, almost automatically. The mission was obviously important; hardly a proper venue for instruction. At the same time, his new position did require him to devote a certain amount of time to it outside of the training ring.

"They must learn, Altair," Rashad pointed out.

Saleem's smile was subtly amused.

Altair remembered that he'd promised himself that he would begin trying to unravel the Piece of Eden today and found that he was suddenly very uncomfortable with the idea of leaving it behind, even with Malik here to guard it. Being away from Masyaf could provide the perfect opportunity to explore the workings of the treasure. "If anyone, I want you to accompany me," he said to Malik, as surprised with the words as Malik appeared to be.

Malik returned the front legs of his chair to the ground with a thud. He regarded him curiously.

"Forgive me, Altair, but you and Malik are the only ones who know the whereabouts of the Piece of Eden," Ghassan said. "Would it be wise for you both to leave together?"

"Yes, what if you're both killed?" Rashad added. "What becomes of the treasure? It is too dangerous."

He'd told the other Council members that the treasure was safe, and that was all. Rashad wasn't happy about being excluded, but Ghassan and Saleem didn't question him or Malik further.

"It is astronomically unlikely that we would both be killed, Rashad," Malik said.

"That is true," Saleem commented quietly. "I suppose I have no objections."

Ghassan drummed his fingers on the table a few times before answering. "I have, but will trust the both of you to take extreme care."

Rashad shook his head. "I still think it a bad idea, but I see that I am outvoted. Do as your conscience dictates."

"Malik? What say you?" he asked.

Malik stood. "If there is no further business, let us prepare for the trip, brother."

He nodded, turning to the others. "Safety and peace, brothers. We will speak again before we depart." Malik followed him out.

"Where did that idea come from?" Malik asked when they were alone.

"I do not know, honestly," he replied. "It just struck me that I should not leave the treasure; that it wouldn't be safe."

"Heh. What, are you having premonitions now or something?"

He debated mentioning the dream and then decided against it. _It was just a dream._ "Don't be silly. Of course not."

"I will send word to the Bureau in Damascus immediately so that they know to expect us. We will have to ride hard."

"I just hope your horse can keep up with Ashara," he quipped. "Perhaps you should bring a spare."

"Shihab is more than a match for your pathetic girl," Malik countered.

He arched an eyebrow. "I sincerely doubt that, but we shall see soon enough."

Malik laughed. "Alright, braggart. I look forward to making you eat your words."

He pointed at him, accepting the challenge as they went their separate ways, he to the training ring and Malik toward the instruction hall. Malik was the favorite instructor amongst the novices, tough but fair. Unsurprisingly, espionage and diplomacy were his specialties. His wit went a long way to endear him to the younger brothers.

As for himself, well, he was tougher and less fair, but with weapons training one had to be prepared for anything. The enemy was rarely fair. He tutored only the most promising fighters and had sent more than one back to Mahdi, the Weapon Master and main instructor. It was a rare day when one of his students did not curse him under their breath. No, he would not win any prize for congeniality, but his students were grateful.

"I hope you all slept well," he greeted them as they bowed respectfully. "I depart the fortress tomorrow on important business. Do not think that gives you reprieve from your training regimen. If you slacken your diligence, I will know." There were a couple muffled groans in response.

He withdrew the small hourglass from his pocket and the groans were clearly audible. He looked into their faces, amused, and then flipped the hourglass._ Let us see who has been paying attention_. No one moved. He pursed his lips to keep from laughing. _No one, apparently._ He leaned back against the railing and sat the hourglass on the post. He looked from it, to the students, and back again. He cleared his throat, adopting a casual tone. "By the way, whoever is not back by the time the sands run out will repeat the course three times, consecutively."

With panicked looks, they took off, flying toward the fortress gate like their clothing was on fire. He chuckled to himself and headed toward the terrace from which he could observe the students' progress through the streets and over the rooftops of Masyaf. They would make their way down to the main gate and back up again. As always, he'd hidden a flag earlier this morning and was curious about whom, if anyone, would retrieve it. There was no special reward for doing so, but it was a minor source of pride for them.

He cringed as one of them, Omar, collided with two guards. To his credit, he didn't stop, only raised his hands in appeasement as he resumed his trek, the guards scowling after him.

He remembered his own mad dashes through the town when he was a novice. Usually Malik was hot on his heels, trying to beat him. _And failing, more often than not._ He smiled. It seemed like only yesterday. How they had longed for glory and dreamed of one day becoming the Master of the Brotherhood. _Fate has a funny way of making the past seem prophetic. _

It would be good to go on a mission with his friend again. Their last one haunted him still. Hopefully this one would prove both successful and enlightening.

* * *

He found Malik in the library, his nose in a huge map spread out on the desk.

"So, have you deduced the most likely route that Al Adil will take?" he asked when he topped the stairs.

"Based on the information we have, I've narrowed it down to two. Once we get to Damascus, it will be narrowed to one. Assuming we can get there before he leaves," Malik said with a low laugh.

He looked down at the map. "Even if we do miss his departure, it shouldn't be difficult to track him. Do you think he will detour to Tyre on the way? Possibly seek audience with Conrad?"

"Nothing indicates such."

He leaned back against the desk, watching Malik and his endless calculations. _The man will measure anything stationary_. A few moments passed in silence. "I want to begin trying to decipher the Piece of Eden," he said.

Malik looked up at him. "What, you mean now?"

"While we are away from Masyaf."

"We have a mission, Altair," Malik said, somewhat sternly.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. "The mission takes precedence, of course, but we have to stop at some point. I think it may be best to see if we can figure out the workings of it while away from home. I do not want to bring catastrophe to Masyaf."

Malik's eyebrows lifted sharply. "Because catastrophe away from home is so much easier to deal with," he said sarcastically. "No. Bring it with you if you must, but there will be no inviting catastrophe while we are on a mission." Malik returned to his map gazing.

He exhaled sharply. Malik had a way of making him feel like a chastised child that rankled him, but he was right. The last thing he wished is for something akin to what had happened at the Temple of Solomon to befall them. "On the trip home, then."

Malik cut his eyes up at him. "Fine." He pulled another map over to him. "This is Jaffa. And here is the citadel."

"I'm familiar with the city, but I suppose one can never have too much information, can they?" It had been a while since he'd visited, so he gave Malik his full attention.

* * *

That evening the preparations for their departure were as complete as they could be. He was in the stable brushing Ashara when out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. He turned, but could spot nothing. _How odd._ "I'm seeing things," he muttered before returning his attention to the task at hand. Ashara neighed softly in reply.

It would have been simple, even expected for him to have one of the novices handle the care of Ashara, but he enjoyed it. She was his pride and joy and had never failed him, so he was glad to return the loyalty. Her mane gleamed when he'd finished brushing it out.

Suddenly she stiffened and shifted back and forth restlessly. He laid his hand on her, wondering what had agitated her. "Shhh," he soothed. Out of nowhere he felt an icy wind on the back of his neck; no, not a wind, for nothing else moved. He spun around. It was as if someone had stood right behind him and blown. There was the sound of faraway laughter.

"Who's there?!" he called. The quiet that answered was eerie. There was nothing – no crickets, no birds, nothing. He walked the length of the stable and back. His skin crawled with the sense of danger, but he could discern no visible source of it.

A few tense moments passed before the sounds of the night resumed. He reached up and patted Ashara's muzzle as he stood, still alert for the slightest movement.

He picked up the brush again and whispered softly to Ashara until she was calm. He took that as his cue that whatever it was no longer lingered.

As he returned to his quarters, the memory of the chill on the back of his neck made the hairs stand up again. _And that laughter_. If he was superstitious, he might suspect that magic was afoot; some Djinn up to mischief perhaps, but being for the most part a creature of the rational, his mind sought more mundane explanations. The laughter must have been some nocturnal animal. Sound carried strangely at this altitude. Try as he might, though, he could find no sensible explanation for the blast of cold air and Ashara's reaction.

The only true sorcery he'd ever witnessed first hand had come from the treasure that lay beneath his bed. It unsettled him and made sleep difficult to find that night.

* * *

_A/N: This chapter begins the "What price wisdom?" story arc. _


	6. What Price Wisdom? 2

The dawn found him sitting cross-legged on the floor. He'd tossed and turned, falling asleep for a brief time only to wake again, the same vague sense of slight unease on the periphery of his mind. He wasn't one to waste time dwelling on the unexplainable, but the events in the stable bothered him. That it followed on the heels of the strange dream made him consider that which sat in front of him as the possible cause. His logical mind dismissed it, but his intuition would not let it go.

He picked up the ornate silver ball. The Piece of Eden. It was inert; no glow or mystery emanating from within it. If he'd been resistant to the thrall, would he even be able to trigger it, he wondered. Turning it in his hand, he could detect no visible seam in the metal, yet judging from its weight, it was certainly hollow. _Curious_.

In the pinkish light of the new day, he examined the engravings around the circumference. The symbols resembled the ancient writing of the Egyptians to some extent; some were simple and others looked to be more a merging of two or more symbols. He retrieved his journal, ink and quill and made copies of them within. Some were quite recognizable – the eagle, serpent and the dragon jumped out at him immediately, but that didn't necessarily equate to a translation. They may hold an entirely different meaning within the context of the other symbols.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned, getting up. He placed the treasure in the bottom of his bag along with his journal and a few more items in for the trip. After some stretching, he washed and dressed, then inspected his weapons. Satisfied that everything was as it should be, he armed himself. Malik was probably awake by now, so he headed out.

When he opened his door, he nearly stepped on a small piece of paper. He reached down and retrieved it. _Faruq, Poor district, Damascus_. He stared at the words, his mind searching for some recognition, but finding none. It must be related to the mission somehow; an informant, perhaps. He stuck the paper in his belt and went to find Malik.

He found him in his quarters packing.

"I know of no informant by that name," Malik said, looking at the paper. "And you found this under your door?"

He nodded as Malik handed the paper back. "It seems someone close to us knows something that we do not."

"Strange," Malik said. "Why would one of our own leave cryptic notes?"

"It is very strange," he agreed. He folded the paper and replaced it in his belt pouch. "We should get underway as soon as we speak to the others."

"I already spoke to them," Malik said. "Well, Saleem, anyway. He said he would pass on our farewells to Ghassan and Rashad. So, let us go. We can stop by the kitchens on the way to the stables and pack some provisions."

* * *

They made their way at a comfortable pace until they reached the archway that marked the boundary of Masyaf. The guards stationed there bowed as they passed. There were two brothers standing off to the side conversing.

The first looked up and inclined his head respectfully when he spotted him and Malik. "Safety and peace, Masters," he called.

"Upon you as well," Malik returned.

The second locked eyes with him, his eyes steely and unflinching. _Pride_. Altair recognized it well. Not necessarily a bad thing, but he did not appreciate the underlying attitude from the young Assassin. He pulled up on Ashara's reins, stopping directly in front of him. In one fluid and lightning fast motion, he drew his sword and smacked him in the face with the broad side of it; not hard, just enough to make a point. "You _will_ show the proper respect to your Masters, Radi, or pay dearly for your disobedience."

Radi's face flushed bright red as he dropped his gaze. Another second passed and he bowed. "Forgive me, Masters."

"Consider this your only warning," he said, giving Ashara a nudge.

Radi nodded, the picture of contrition.

Malik laughed softly when they were clear. "That one reminds me of someone."

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Malik," he replied with a subtle smile.

"Of course not," Malik answered. "How long do you think they will keep testing us?"

"A while yet, I imagine." There had been some minor incidents so far, but nothing requiring severe punishment. Such displays as the one Radi presented had to be addressed swiftly, however. Though he had not relished hitting the young man and remembered all too well the humiliation of being struck by Al Mualim, he understood the reason for it. Discipline _must_ be preserved. Any sign of weakness on his, Malik's or any of the other Council members' part would be detrimental to the Brotherhood.

"I have a feeling that Radi will become very well known to us. He's a good Assassin, but stubborn as a mule," Malik observed. "He will learn, I hope."

"I'm sure he will. Now, we have a long way to go, and a short time to get there. Do try to keep up." He whistled and Ashara broke into a full gallop. He smiled as he heard Malik curse and give a sharp cry to Shihab.

* * *

They rode into Baalbek on the evening of the second day. They'd covered a lot of ground and thankfully had had no run-ins along the way.

The ruins of the great Temple of Jupiter-Baal with its impossibly huge pillars dominated the city. It was a most impressive feat of engineering. The Romans had built the complex on the ruins of a far older Temple, their gods absorbing the local gods – or at least trying to, and then the Christians had built atop the Pagan ruins. Altair laughed to himself, wondering if Saladin would build a huge Mosque there now that the land was his. He imagined if there was any lingering vestige of the gods and goddesses that had been worshipped there, that they must be more than a little frustrated.

"Have you never explored the ruins?" Malik asked, noticing him staring.

"No, though I've passed by them many times," he replied.

"Very interesting place."

"I've read of it to a small degree," he said.

"People once made pilgrimages from far away lands to worship and consult the Oracle within," Malik said.

"Do you suppose that the Oracular spirits are still there?"

Malik shook his head. "Doubtful. I think the Christians exorcised the site in an effort to cleanse it of all pagan roots."

"Hmm. Some roots run deeper than the words of man can reach," he reflected.

Malik gave him a funny look. "Don't do that. It confounds me when you do that."

"What?"

"Sound wise." Malik paused a moment then laughed.

He chuckled. "Ah, so that explains your perpetual confoundedness."

Malik grimaced as if he'd been hit. "Oh, ouch!"

"You walked right into it, my friend."

They rode in observant silence the rest of the way to the inn that was their destination. They'd both stayed there before. It was a small place, but ideally situated. The innkeeper and his wife were quiet people and asked no bothersome questions. When they arrived, they led the horses around back to the small stable attached to the building. A young boy quickly fetched hay while Ashara and Shihab drank from the trough. Altair pressed a coin into the boy's hand. "Alert me to any sign of trouble."

The boy smiled and nodded vigorously. "Thank you, kind sir."

"I cannot wait to close my eyes," Malik groaned.

"Nor I," he agreed, smiling politely at the innkeeper who met them and showed them inside.

"It is good to see you both again," the innkeeper said.

"Likewise, Hasim," Malik replied. "I hope you and yours are well."

They made small talk with Hasim as they were shown to their rooms and supplied with water, bread, cheese and fruits. After making sure they needed nothing else, Hasim left them to their rest.

* * *

Altair was just falling asleep, occupying that liminal state between wakefulness and slumber when he heard whispering. It grew from barely distinguishable mumbling to comprehensible words.

_"Nothingistrueeverythingispermittednothingistrueeverythingispermittednothingistrueeverythingispermittednothingistruenothingistruenothingistrue..."_

He opened his eyes, suddenly acutely aware that he was not alone.

_"Awaken from ignorance, Altair."_

His hand shot out, grabbing for whomever it was whispering in his ear, but his hand found nothing. He quickly sat up, heart pounding. A knock at the door made him jump.

"Altair?"

He relaxed somewhat upon hearing Malik's voice. "Come in," he said, trying to slow his breathing.

Malik opened the door and leaned in. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, of course." It didn't sound very convincing, even to his own ears.

"I heard you talking. Were you asleep?"

He didn't answer at first. _Asleep_ wasn't really accurate, but neither was awake. "I was dreaming."

"Do me a favor and don't dream so loudly, alright?"

_I was talking?_ He nodded and Malik began to close the door. "Wait." He somehow knew what the answer to his question was going to be, but he asked anyway. "What was I saying?"

Even in the dim moonlight that filtered in the window he could see that Malik looked uncomfortable. "The philosophy of the Creed; part of it anyway. _Nothing is true, everything is permitted, _then just _nothing is true_. Over and over and over."

"Oh. I'm sorry I woke you."

"Rest well… and quietly, please," Malik said, and closed the door.

_Betraying the Creed in my sleep. Wonderful_. He pressed his palms into his eyes. What did it mean? He glanced at his bag; reached for it and felt inside. The treasure was there. He paused, then closed the bag and tossed it back onto the floor.

When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed within a memory: he knelt before Al Mualim again, at his initiation into the Brotherhood. As he recited the philosophy of the Creed, his eyes looked past Al Mualim to the painting on the wall behind him. Past the eagle and the owl; past truth and wisdom. It focused on the raven - illusion. It held something in its beak.

Al Mualim spoke. "What does it mean to transcend?"

He didn't answer. He was transfixed by the painting; by the object in the raven's beak. Was it glowing?

* * *

"You're quiet today," Malik observed as they prepared to depart.

He adjusted the saddle straps. "My sleep was less than restful."

"Well that's obvious. Tell me about the dream."

That was the question he'd seen in Malik's eyes since they took their morning meal. He was surprised that his friend had managed to suppress it until now. "Perhaps later. Let us focus on the day's journey," he answered. It was not a complete evasion. He'd thought of nothing else but the dreams since he'd awakened and was frankly tired of it. Focusing on the mission should be his priority; more than that, it should be his single-minded purpose, free from any distractions. He gave Ashara's muzzle a pat then stepped up into the saddle.

Malik watched him, seemingly weighing whether or not to pursue the question further. He must have recognized the stubborn look on his face because he let it drop. "We must make it to Damascus by tonight."

He inclined his head slightly toward the path. "After you."

As they passed by the ruins on their way out of the city, his eyes were drawn once again to the crumbling edifice. No doubt the Romans had thought it would stand forever. His eyes followed the height of one of the massive columns from the ground to the sky. Perched atop it sat a lone raven. _Nothing is permanent in this world._ Man would no doubt continue trying to disprove that, especially where places of worship were concerned.

As they neared the city gates, he felt eyes upon him and casually scanned the crowd ahead of them. They glided over a group of guards who looked from him to Malik and back again. _Low rank, poorly armed, but alert_. They began talking amongst themselves, still watching them.

He whistled low, giving Malik the signal that they were under surveillance. Malik nodded once, almost imperceptibly. They maintained their slow and easy pace towards the gates. One of the guards moved toward the sentry house located to the left. Altair noticed that he had not hurried; a good sign.

They passed out of the city with no challenge. When they were a decent distance away, Malik fell back beside him, while his eyes searched the sky, alert for any carrier pigeons that may fly over. "I do not think they had any knowledge of us."

Malik shook his head. "No. They were probably just admiring my horse."

"I'm sure that must have been the case," he replied with minor sarcasm as he nudged Ashara into a trot. Shihab was a fine horse, no doubt, but even he paled beside Ashara. Luckily, both horses and riders were well-equipped to cover the considerable distance that lay between Baalbek and Damascus.

* * *

_A/N: The painting referenced in this and future chapters first appeared in my one-shot "Threshold", if you're curious about the symbolism._


	7. What Price Wisdom? 3

They arrived in Damascus in the middle of the night, both themselves and their horses worn and weary. They'd run into a fight with a patrol a few hours ago. Luckily neither he nor Malik had sustained serious injury, but the altercation had been long, with more and more soldiers joining the fray. By the time it was done, twenty-one of Saladin's soldiers lay dead. The rest of the ride had been tense as they anticipated more skirmishes, but the darkness proved their ally.

They had stabled the horses at the home of a friend of the Brotherhood located outside the city gates and made their way on foot to the Bureau. It seemed a tremendously long walk, with neither doing much talking due to their tiredness.

Food, water and bedclothes had been left out for them. After they'd eaten, they climbed up to the loft and prepared for blessed sleep.

He propped himself up on an elbow. "Malik, do you remember the painting of the raven on the wall of the initiation chamber?"

"Of course. Why?"

"Does the raven hold something in its beak?"

Malik was quiet for a moment. "I don't think so, but it has been a while since I saw it up close. What makes you think it does?"

"It was in a dream I had."

"The one that-"

He interrupted, anticipating the question. "No, a different one."

"Your dreams are as strange as you are."

He laughed softly. "Good night." He snuffed the candle out and lay down.

"Are you alright, brother?" Malik asked.

"Go to sleep."

"Fine. But you will tell me about these dreams tomorrow. Considering what you carry, it would be foolish for me to ignore."

"Foolish to ignore? What are you talking about?"

Malik sighed. "Look, that thing is a curse. You said so yourself. I want open communication between us, that's all. Strange dreams could mean something. I won't have you isolating yourself."

"Yes, Master," he snapped. He regretted it immediately.

"Damn right," Malik replied haughtily. There was silence for a moment then they both laughed.

"Alright. Now will you please shut up so I can rest?" he said, feigning irritation.

"Good night, brother."

He shook his head, smiling at the exchange and closed his heavy eyelids, part of him grateful for Malik's concern. His friend was no doubt right, but he didn't look forward to the conversation. Things made little enough sense in his head. Trying to explain them would no doubt be even more of a challenge.

* * *

The next morning, Malik was occupied with following up on the latest news to come in from their spies and informants. Al Adil had not departed the city yet, so Malik was hopeful that they could get someone inside the entourage that would accompany him.

Altair decided to go and locate Faruq if possible. The poor district was not that large, and he had his own source of information. "Safety and peace, brother" he said to Malik as he departed.

Malik nodded. "Watch your back."

"Always," he replied as he climbed up the trellis.

The streets were busy with citizens and merchants starting their day, and of course there were the patrols, sentries and archers as always. He headed down a quiet side street and glancing around to be sure no guards were watching, he quickly climbed a two-story building and took to the rooftops. He exhaled, crouching as he surveyed the area.

Given the choice, he preferred to navigate from rooftop to rooftop; to remain unfettered and unseen. It gave him a great sense of freedom, and was far more efficient than street travel. The archers were easy enough to avoid. He had no quarrel with them unless they stood between himself and a target or if they were foolish enough to challenge him.

He made his way over the densely packed buildings, enjoying the movement; the feeling of his lungs and muscles working and stretching themselves as he leapt from one to the next. He heard a shocked gasp from someone on the ground who thought they'd seen something fly over their heads. He'd heard it before. Usually some questioning of their sanity would follow. It made him smile, even after all these years.

His destination came into view. One final leap from two-story to one; a quick roll and he came up into a crouch and paused, listening. There were guards on the east side of the building. Luckily the ladder was on the western side.

"What were you doing on my roof?!"

He finished his descent and faced the man who questioned him. "Short cut," he replied as he crossed the street, leaving the man bewildered.

He approached the door and knocked the code: one, pause, three, pause, one. The door opened a crack.

"I need some information," he said. The door opened wide and he walked inside. He did not know the name of the man he'd come to see, nor he his. The man dealt in information only and asked no questions. He'd proved valuable in the past.

The informant got right to business. "Coin?"

He handed over the currency and waited while the man counted it. He was an unremarkable man, which served his trade well. No one noticed him.

Apparently finding the coin sufficient, the man looked at him. "What information do you need?"

"I'm looking for someone named Faruq, here in the poor district."

"Why?"

The question surprised him a little. Usually he either gave the information or did not. "I cannot tell you that, only that I mean him no harm." He realized after he'd said it that the latter part of that statement may not hold. He did not know yet why he'd been given the name.

"Lower your hood," the informant said.

"Now why would I do that?"

"The shadows make it easy to hide intent."

Impatience crept into his tone. "You have my word and that is enough. Where is he?"

A slight smile curled the man's lips. "You're speaking to him, Altair."

His small finger on his left hand twitched slightly. The man knew his name, which most likely meant he knew what he was. "It is dangerous knowledge that you possess. Tell me why I should not kill you for it."

Faruq's eyes did not register fear as most men's would. "Yes, I now know who you are and I know what you are." He tented his fingers and paced slowly back and forth as he spoke. "I was informed that you would seek me out and that I should assist you; that you were in need of someone well versed in translating symbols."

With a great deal of effort, he did not betray the alarm in his mind. His voice was low and carefully measured when he spoke. "I'm afraid you've been misinformed, then. I am, however, curious as to who it was that wasted your and more importantly, my time."

"Why did you seek me out?" Faruq asked.

"Answer my question," he said sharply.

Faruq ceased his pacing and faced him. "I do not know his name." He shrugged. "I am not even sure the messenger was male. It was difficult to tell from his speech. He handed me a purse and explained the job. He said that I would cooperate or…" Faruq shook his head, his meaning clear.

"Describe the man."

Faruq held his hand up. "Tall, though not as tall as you, and thin. Beyond that I cannot say. He wore a cloak, hood up – black as pitch."

His dismissed the image that appeared in his mind. _It cannot be_. Figures did not walk out of dreams into reality.

"I am not a religious man, but his presence was altogether disquieting. He had a strangely pleasant laugh, though. Strange indeed."

"When did you receive the message?"

"Three nights ago," Faruq replied. "How did you get my name? For truly I guard it as much as you guard yours."

_Three nights – the same_. He decided to divulge the information. "I received a written message, left anonymously. It had your name and a vague description of where to find you. I had no idea that it was you. I thought it was related to something else. Is there anything else you can remember about the meeting?"

"No, nothing. Are you sure there is nothing I can help you with? It makes no sense that we would both receive such messages…"

"I will keep you in mind should I need such assistance in the future. Do I need to tell you what will happen should you ever speak my name to anyone?"

Faruq smiled. "I am a very discreet man. I have to be, to do what I do."

He nodded and opened the door. "If the man should reappear, do tell him that I look forward to meeting him face to face if he should find his courage."

* * *

_Who could it be?_ The question vexed him on his way back to the Bureau. The answer that his mind kept turning over was beyond belief. Whoever it was knew about the Piece of Eden, and knew of the symbols etched upon it, almost like they'd seen him transcribe them into his journal. _Impossible_. It must be some bizarre coincidence.

The only other explanation that he could come up with is that it was someone connected with Robert de Sable; someone who'd seen the treasure first hand before Al Mualim came to possess it.

He pushed hard off one building. In mid-air he spotted a black cloaked figure moving through the streets below. He landed and turned, peering over the edge of the building. No, his eyes had not deceived him, for there he was. It would most likely prove a goose chase; the cloak hiding some merchant or citizen. He looked over at the green dome of the Bureau, a few buildings to the south, then back to the figure, getting farther and farther away. He took a deep breath and followed the mysterious black cloaked man from the rooftops.

The stride marked him as male, and he moved with purpose toward some destination. The man turned right. Altair quickly leapt to the next building and crossed over the street below balanced on a beam linking it to one across the street. A few quick steps and he'd regained the line of sight. The man was heading toward the large courtyard where orators and despots gathered to spread their messages.

Altair headed around to the eastern side of the buildings framing the courtyard. There was someone speaking from the small stage. The black cloaked man paused, apparently listening.

The orator spoke passionately. "We are all prisoners of the great illusion, my friends. We must free ourselves from the burden of dogma; from the tyranny of faith and see the world as it truly is. Only then can we know wisdom and harmony."

_The tyranny of faith_. Sibrand had used the phrase. Altair remembered the dying man's words well. Who did this orator speak for? His message seemed somewhat akin to the philosophy of the Brotherhood, but it was also one shared by Gnostics and Buddhists. The Templars who had fallen by his blade claimed to believe it, but they would exchange one tyranny for another. It was not a message one would expect to hear in Saladin's stronghold city.

The orator gave a small bow to the man in the cloak. _Odd_. It seemed more than a polite gesture – more like deference. The man continued on his way north. Altair hung back until he'd left the courtyard, then moved to catch up.

The man turned east, then north again. Altair had to divert to the west to avoid an archer. He spotted a hay cart and jumped off of the roof into it, quickly exiting and dusting himself off. He picked up his pace. _There_. The man was ahead of him, heading toward the Pasha Mosque.

He trailed him around to the front of the Mosque and was shocked when the man went inside the building. He could certainly not follow. Some boundaries even the Assassins did not cross unless it was the only way to access a target. He found a bench from which he could discreetly monitor the door and sat down to wait. At least it was shaded. He noted the position of the sun relative to the minaret and pulled his hood down further, obscuring his face from the passing guards.

Time passed, around an hour he guessed. He was well past tired of sitting and was sure Malik was wondering where he was. Some street children entered the grounds. Catching the leader's eye, he flashed a coin, luring him over.

The scraggly boy reached for the coin and he pulled it back. "You were going into the Mosque?" he asked.

"Yes. Did you wish to make a donation?" the boy replied, his two compatriots snickering.

He held up the coin. "This and two more, when you return to tell me whether you spot a man in a black cloak inside." He looked the boy in the eye, his gaze hard and cold as he spoke. "And do not think to lie to me, boy. I can smell falsehood. Understand?"

The boy nodded, the cocky spirit suddenly gone out of him. "Wait here. We will return shortly."

A few minutes later, the boy reappeared. "There is no one inside wearing or carrying such a cloak."

"Are you sure?" he asked, sure the boy must be mistaken.

"I swear. I would not lie to someone such as yourself." The boy's eyes lingered on Altair's left hand.

Children were a lot more perceptive than adults gave them credit for. He caught the three boys' eyes in turn. Satisfied there was no deception, he handed over the coins and got up to leave.

"Are you really an-"

"Tsst." He shook his head and glared at the boy, silencing him.

The boy swallowed hard and nodded. "Th-thank you for the coin, sir." He and his friends turned and ran, nervous laughter breaking out among them.

He stood a moment longer, perplexed. Where had the man gone? He must have exited out of the little used back entrance. That was the only explanation. He should have observed the building from the minaret. He began making his way back to the courtyard where the orator had been. Perhaps he could extract some information from him.

He came into the courtyard and found that the orator had vanished as well. He cursed under his breath. Nothing to do now but head back to the Bureau before Malik sent someone after him.

* * *

He lowered himself and landed softly on the floor of the Bureau, but still the pigeons scattered. The sound caused a novice meditating on the cushions to turn his way.

"Safety and peace, Master," the novice greeted him.

"You did not hear me enter, did you?" he asked the young man.

The novice opened his mouth to protest, no doubt, but he broke into a nervous smile. "You are as silent as a bird of prey, Master."

"Flattery will not save you should the enemy discover the location of our hideout. I could have killed you at least twice." The novice nodded. Altair pointed at the young man as he continued into the main room. "Mind your awareness, even when meditating."

Malik stood talking with Kadeem and an informant. Kadeem acknowledged his arrival with a respectful nod. Malik looked exasperated.

"I was about to send Kadeem out to track you," Malik said. "Did you find him?"

"I did, but the man knew nothing about the mission. What have you discovered?"

"Al Adil leaves tomorrow, which means that we do, too. One of the elite guard detail that will accompany him was seen leaving the home of Abdul-Matin last night."

Abdul-Matin held a high position at court and was a staunch traditionalist. He no doubt did not appreciate Saladin's more liberal interpretation of the law and chivalric attitude toward King Richard. That certainly was reason enough for him to want to disrupt any negotiations with the Crusaders. But would he go so far as to plot to murder the Sultan's own brother? "Perhaps we should send a message to Abdul-Matin and the guard in question," he said. An eagle feather found under one's pillow could be quite convincing, and it would let the recipient know he was being watched.

"I do not think we should show ourselves yet," Malik replied. "Let us wait and see what happens."

Malik was ever-cautious, whereas he often preferred a more direct approach. He chose not to argue the point in front of Kadeem. "Let us take our evening meal together and finalize our departure plans. I am going to meditate for a while."

Malik nodded, probably sensing that he did not agree. "Peaceful journey, brother."

* * *

He stripped down to his pants and began some stretching exercises to bring his body and mind into full alignment. His body was an instrument, a finely gauged tool that he depended on. Yoga taught him to listen to it, to become fully aware of each muscle and its capabilities and limitations. As he moved through the asanas, he focused on the way his body responded to his breath pattern. He inhaled deeply, feeling the influx of air all the way to the bottom of his feet. Exhaling, he released the pose. He rolled his neck a few times then sank down onto the cushion and began his meditation.

When the mental chatter had fallen away, it was as if he floated; pure awareness without limitation.

An image appeared before him: the painting in the initiation chamber. He observed, ready for any insight that he may be gifted with.

_The object in the raven's beak glowed. He looked closer, his inner eye recognizing the Piece of Eden. The glow intensified. Cracks began to appear behind the representations of the eagle and the owl, revealing the glowing light beneath them. He struggled to remain receptive; to not react emotionally. He could hear it now, a subtle ripping noise as the cracks crawled across the image. The light was blinding. There was a popping sound, then an explosion, sending pieces of plaster toward him like shrapnel. When the light dimmed, he opened his eyes to find that the eagle and owl were gone. Only the raven remained. _

He inhaled, coming back into ordinary awareness. No truth. No wisdom. Only illusion. He turned the insight over in his mind. What illusions did he cling to? He could think of no obvious ones. He did not value wealth, fame or power. His life was simple. He valued the Creed; its tenants and philosophy and little else. It had been with him almost his entire life. Though he had stumbled on his path, he never wavered in his faithfulness and never really questioned it. _Why not?_ He sat with the question for a moment, his discomfort rapidly increasing as the seconds passed. He felt like a traitor for even allowing the thought to form, but now it echoed, unanswered and unyielding.


	8. What Price Wisdom? 4

"Later," he said. True to his word, Malik was pressing him for details on the dreams. Altair tore off a piece of bread and dipped it into his bowl of stew.

"What about Faruq, eh? You said he knew nothing about the mission."

"He did not. Were you able to plant anyone inside of Al Adil's entourage?" he asked.

Malik ignored the question. "If not the mission, then what did he know?"

"Nothing. It turns out that Faruq is the man whom I've used for information in the past. I never knew his name, nor he mine, until today."

Malik's eyebrows shot up. "He knows your name? Does he-"

He nodded once, staring down into the rapidly cooling stew.

"And?"

"Someone wanted us to meet. He received a message as well." He paused, his mind framing the event carefully.

Malik waited. "Allah, talking to you is like trying to draw blood from stone."

He threw the bread down and sat back. "An unidentified messenger told Faruq that I was in need of someone to translate symbols and ancient writing. I told him he was mistaken, and to tell the unidentified messenger that I would like to meet him face to face."

"It's the treasure, isn't it? Ancient writing, mysterious messengers…"

"It is, though Faruq does not know it. The messenger obviously does, which makes him someone I very much want to meet."

"He knows that we have the treasure. Templar, maybe. We should keep an eye on him. I do not like the situation."

"I do not think Faruq will compromise us in any way. His own livelihood depends on his discretion. But it is not a bad idea to keep him under surveillance. The messenger may return. Now, may we please speak of the mission?"

"We are unable to infiltrate. It is not the usual massive entourage that will be accompanying Al Adil. Only a specially chosen few."

"In that case I do not see how we are going to afford any protection for the man. The soldiers will engage us on sight."

"We will simply have to avoid them."

He shook his head. "No. We must inform Al Adil of our intent."

"That had occurred to me as a possibility." Malik scratched his cheek as he considered the idea. "Alright, but let us wait until he leaves the city. I believe he will be more amenable away from his brother's judgment."

"While it would make it easier, ultimately I do not care whether he agrees to our protection, as long as he does not interfere with it." He wiped his mouth and pushed the picked over bowl of stew away. He didn't have much of an appetite lately, but he ate enough to keep his body functioning properly.

After the conversation lulled, Malik leaned back in his chair. "Well, what do you know?"

"What?"

"It's later," Malik said with a sardonic smile. "Start from the beginning."

He stared at him for a moment. Malik would not give up, he knew. Perhaps it would be better to tell him now before anything else happened. It seemed each successive event was more peculiar than the last. He sighed heavily. "You will think me mad."

"No, I won't," Malik said calmly.

"I need air," he said, pushing away from the table. Malik followed him up to the roof.

He sat down, gazing up at the firmament. He wondered if there were answers to be found amongst the brilliance of the stars. There were some that could read them and he wished for the first time ever that he had that ability. He inhaled and began recounting what had transpired thus far, from the first dream up until his meditation earlier today.

When he'd reached the end, Malik was quiet. Now it was his eyes that searched the sky for clues. "You were immune to the thrall, yet it seems obvious that it is affecting your dreams. As far as a possible corporeal manifestation… that is frightening, but knowing what I know, somehow it is not beyond belief."

Altair's rational mind continued its rebellion. He shook his head. "Do you realize how insane that sounds? It is just a silver ball."

Malik laughed softly. "You know that it is much more than that. Let me take a look at the symbols. Perhaps between the two of us we can gain a rough idea of what they convey."

He pulled out his journal and found the pages. "Here. It resembles Egyptian hieroglyphs," he said as he handed the journal over.

Malik stared at the text, his brow creasing as he took it in. "No. This looks older," he said, barely above a whisper. He angled the pages to catch the moonlight. "Are you sure you copied this correctly?"

"Yes, though my drawing skill is minimal."

Malik didn't look up. "My god. I think this is ancient Sumerian." Something akin to a grimace passed over his features.

"But that would place it… what? Thousands of years ago? The treasure could not have been created that far back."

"We are not dealing with the natural world here, Altair."

"Can you translate?"

"I can only guess. There are books in the library at home that would aid us." Malik laid the journal down, then pointed at one of the pictograms, the one with a serpent. "This, I'm fairly certain means _Khadhulu_, and this one may mean _wisdom_."

"So the two together - forsaking wisdom, perhaps."

"The ultimate abandonment. This is ninth degree esoterica."

"The illusion of the world…," he paraphrased the philosophy of the Creed.

Malik looked over at him and nodded. "Submit, or transcend. Nothing is true."

Altair knew that the wisdom of the Creed had ancient roots, but to see possible tangible evidence of it was exhilarating, despite the questions that remained. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

"What?"

"I was just reminded of the vision I saw in my meditation earlier."

"It is something of a paradox, isn't it? The Creed gives us purpose, a framework for our lives, but it also teaches us to question everything," Malik said.

"These are dangerous thoughts that plague me, brother. To question what I've dedicated my life to and now, of all times…"

"I never thought to hear you say such words. Tread carefully, my friend. Fate has yet to reveal her true intentions."

"Thank you for not judging me."

"Those days are behind me. I have faith in you. In fact, of the two of us, the treasure is probably safer with you. I will repeat my wish that you maintain communication with me – especially considering what's been happening to you."

He wasn't sure the treasure was safer with him, not anymore. He smiled slightly. "Consider yourself my anchor to sanity."

"Ha! I am not sure I want that much responsibility!" Malik laughed. "I'm going back inside."

"I think I will stay up here a while longer." Tomorrow the mission would require his full attention. He had to be ready. He looked again at the stars above. For some reason, the sight of them was comforting, and comfort was a rare thing lately.

* * *

A day's ride out of Damascus, he and Malik approached the camp of Al Adil under the cover of darkness. There was always a chance that it could turn violent should they be spotted.

Soundlessly they skirted the camp and headed in, Al Adil's tent their goal. They split, each of them taking a slightly different route in case the other was discovered.

Altair made it to the tent first and waited behind it, listening intently. There was casual conversation taking place inside the tent. Malik joined him and they slipped under the tent wall, quickly regaining their footing once inside.

A guard stared for a moment, disbelieving the sight of them. Finally he exclaimed "Merciful God, Assassins!" He drew his sword and advanced.

"Hold! We bring a message for Al Adil," Malik said quickly.

The guard hesitated, unsure whether to believe them.

"Wait, Yusef. I will hear what they have to say. Go and alert the Captain."

The speaker could only be Al Adil. They stepped around the fabric wall and faced him. The man regarded them with the somewhat amused expression that only royalty could affect. Altair noted the golden saber that hung from his belt. It was probably the real thing, and therefore useless.

"How exciting. I've never met an Assassin, and here are two. Have you come to leave one of your trademark feathers beneath my pillow? Or maybe a dagger, as my brother found?"

"No, it is protection that we bring to you," Altair said, annoyed by the flippancy in the man's tone.

"You are in danger from one of your own, Al Adil," Malik added, his voice low.

Al Adil stared at them, his eyes noting with keen interest each detail of their regalia. "I am listening."

They stepped closer so that they would not be overheard. "It should come as no surprise to you that there are those close to your brother who do not support the idea of peace, if it means any concessions to the Crusaders," Malik said.

"Of course it does not surprise me. What does surprise me is the Assassins offering their protection. What do you gain?" Al Adil asked.

"We only desire the negotiations to take place without hindrance," Malik replied. "We can ensure your safe travel to broker peace with Richard. Your cooperation will make our job easier."

"And if I do not cooperate?"

"Then our job will be more difficult," Altair said, staring at Yusef as he returned.

"You all have a strange way of expressing your desire for peace," Al Adil said.

"And Saladin and Richard have a strange way of using their holy books as weapons," he commented.

"Peace is ever our goal, Al Adil, make no mistake. Now, will you allow us to formally escort you?" Malik asked.

"I have heard that the Assassins are men of their word. Give me yours that you will not kill me in my sleep."

"You have our word. If we were here to kill you, you would be dead," Malik replied.

Al Adil chuckled. "Yes, I suppose so. Very well. I accept your offer and Yusef will inform my soldiers. You may bunk in the ante-room of my tent, if you so desire." Yusef departed the tent with a quick bow.

Malik nodded. "One of us will sleep outside and one inside."

"Suit yourselves. May I ask your names?"

"Our names are irrelevant," Altair said. "We are Assassins; we serve the Brotherhood and we will protect you. That is all you need to know."

Al Adil balked. "Bah! Come now. I am quite literally, according to you, entrusting my life to you. I must know to whom I am indebted."

Altair glanced at Malik and could see in his eyes that they were in agreement on the matter. "It is safer for you this way."

Al Adil narrowed his eyes for a moment as if he would order them to divulge the information, then thought better of it. He cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose if you put it that way, I cannot argue, can I?" He smiled, but it was forced. Altair could tell that the man was very uncomfortable with the arrangement even though they'd given their word. _A little discomfort in the life of one so pampered is a good thing._

He stepped outside the tent and walked to the edge of the camp, then whistled loudly. A few seconds later, Ashara came into view, Shihab trailing behind her. He heard one of the nearby guards laughing and turned toward him.

"Your horse thinks she's a dog," the soldier said.

_She probably thinks the same of you._ He bit his tongue and led the horses to the back of Al Adil's tent.

Malik stepped outside. "Inside or out?"

"Out, for now at least. Rest if you can. I will stay alert until you wake."

"Alright," Malik said and moved to retrieve his blanket from his saddlebag.

Altair settled himself just outside the main flap of the tent and focused his senses, taking in the sights, scents and sounds of his surroundings and memorizing them.

* * *

The next week came and went, the escort mission dominating his thoughts. Years of practice allowed him to push his personal feelings to the back of his mind. His dreams, however, were beyond his control.

It was the same dream, for three nights now. He would find himself in a house, wearing ordinary clothing. Then children would appear, a boy and a younger girl. They would rush toward him joyfully, calling him father. Soon after, he would hear a voice. Her voice. Adah.

It was a glimpse of another life, an alternate reality. He was not an Assassin.

His heart feeling like it would burst, he would walk into the next room and gather her into his arms, somehow knowing that in this world, this was normal.

There was no Creed.

"Hello, Angel." She smiled up at him. She was older, but no less breath-taking. Written on her face was the tale of their life together. They were happy.

He was happy.

Then he would notice the golden band, there… on the ring finger of his left hand. Even in this sweet dream, the shock of it always jolted him awake.

The first night, he was nearly overcome with emotion. He'd squeezed his eyes shut, chanting to himself that it was just a dream. Now, three days later it just seemed like torture.

* * *

He stood annoyed under the afternoon sun, scanning the landscape. The party had stopped to make camp when there were at least two additional hours of good traveling time available to them. Al Adil had to have his supper at a certain time, spoiled as he was.

"This is the longest journey I've ever endured," Malik complained. "At this rate we shall be lucky to reach Jaffa by the Solstice."

"It certainly has been an exercise in patience," he agreed.

"At least the temperature is bearable." Malik kicked at the dusty ground.

"Fates be thanked for small favors. Did you notice that the Captain sent not one, but two pigeons a few moments ago?" He and Malik suspected that it was he who was in league with Abdul-Matin, but could not be sure yet.

"I did. I suppose there is a small chance that both were intended for Saladin."

"No. The second came from the Captain's private tent."

"Speak of the devil," Malik said under his breath, for the Captain approached them.

The Captain's expression was cold and guarded as he addressed them. "I have a report that trouble awaits in the next village."

"What sort of trouble?" Malik asked.

"Possibly an ambush. I was hoping you could ride ahead and scout the situation."

Altair kept his face neutral. _He must think us daft._ Malik opened his mouth to speak, but he interrupted him. "Very well. We will depart immediately."

The Captain nodded. "Allah protect you both," he said and left them there.

"An ambush," Malik said dryly when the Captain was out of earshot. "Right."

Altair shook his head. "Do you think the soldiers will side with him or with Al Adil?"

"I do not know, but I think that we shall find out very soon," Malik said, his voice sounding faraway. Altair knew that tone. Malik was planning.

"Will we have sufficient cover to double back?"

Malik nodded. "There are hills on at least one side of the road for the next few miles. We will come around that way and approach from the rear of Al Adil's tent."

"Alright. Let us get this over with."

They dutifully rode out and quickly noticed that they were being followed. Altair rode back and challenged the young soldier, who claimed that he'd been sent to assist them. He instructed him to hold his position for now; that he would explain the change in strategy to the Captain when they returned from the village. The soldier agreed, with some trepidation.

He and Malik doubled back when they were out of sight and arrived back in short course. They left the horses and observed Al Adil's tent. The Captain stood outside of it, speaking to Yusef. Both walked away toward the Captain's tent. He looked at Malik and nodded. They made their move.

When the Captain entered Al Adil's tent a few minutes later, Altair and Malik waited, hidden behind the fabric wall.

The Captain spoke. "You are a traitor to the Faith, Al Adil, and Allah will reward me for taking your wretched life," he said, drawing his sword.

"Ramal, you are a fool," Al Adil answered as Altair and Malik stepped out from their concealment.

The Captain's face betrayed his surprise, but soon twisted into a mask of hatred. "I will send you to hell, infidel!" He charged at Al Adil.

Malik quickly launched a throwing knife at him. A heartbeat later, Altair sank his hidden blade into the man's neck and laid him out.

The Captain sputtered, blood pouring out of his mouth. "Allah forgive me for my failure," he prayed as his life departed and his eyes became fixed in regret.

Al Adil slowly inhaled and released the breath in a quick puff. "Ramal, Ramal, Ramal. He was with me for years," he mused with sadness in his voice.

Altair reached down and grabbed the Captain's breast plate and dragged him from the tent to the middle of the camp, unceremoniously depositing the body at his feet. The soldiers gathered around, their surprise evident. Some drew their swords, but did not advance.

"Decide quickly where your loyalty lies: with Al Adil, or with a treacherous dead man," he announced. The soldiers eyed him warily. Malik met his gaze and tilted his head slightly, signaling him.

At the same time a voice cut through the silence. "My loyalty lies with Allah!"

Altair drew his sword in time to block the rear attack. The soldier had madness in his eyes, that religious fervor that blinded men to reason. Their blades pushed against each other. Altair gave a bit, then turned the momentum to his favor, pushing the man away with his boot. The soldier stumbled but did not lose his footing, settling into a defensive stance with his sword raised.

Altair watched him, observant to the slightest twitch. It was the soldier's knee that gave him away when he advanced. Altair stepped slightly right, his blade catching the soldier in the midsection and slicing diagonally upward as he spun counter-sunwise, coming around behind the man to finish with a devastating downward slash to his back. The soldier collapsed. Altair calmly wiped the blood from his blade as he looked around. The faces around him told him there would be no further challenges, so he sheathed his sword.

The soldiers fell back to let Al Adil pass. He pointed towards Altair and Malik. "Without these men, I would surely have perished by Ramal's traitorous hand." Al Adil stopped beside the body of Ramal. "Bury these men," Al Adil said, "though it is surely more than they deserve." He turned to speak with Malik, offering his thanks.

Altair heard and marked that it was unusual for men like Al Adil to show gratitude, but his sight was fixed on something far away. Without a word, he began moving toward it.

Malik hurried to catch up with him. "What is it?" he asked, looking around for danger.

"Stay here, Malik. This may not be over."

"Where are you going?"

"I saw something. I want to know what it was."

Malik stopped, looking both alarmed and a bit confused.

He would have been even more alarmed had he told him what he saw. Someone had appeared on the top of the ridge a little ways from the camp. Someone in a black cloak.


	9. What Price Wisdom? 5

The figure moved slowly but steadily away from him, and it began to feel like he was chasing the moon. He'd had quite enough of phantoms and disturbing dreams. It was time to end this – whatever _this_ was, so he followed.

Ahead was a small river, where the figure stopped beneath a tree on its bank. It either could not cross, or it was waiting for him, at long last.

He stopped a few feet away, staring at the back of the cloak. "What do you want from me?" He hated himself for asking it; hated the helpless feeling that swallowed him. He waited, but no reply came. He thought of drawing his sword, but dismissed the idea, his first dream still fresh in his mind.

It turned to face him. He stared, trying to glimpse beneath the voluminous hood that obscured the face.

"Altair Ibn La-Ahad; the Flying One, the Son of None." It was the same androgynous, mellifluous voice that he remembered from his dream.

"Tell me what you are. The spirit of the treasure? Angel? Demon?"

That peculiar laughter followed. Delicate hands appeared from the folds of the cloak, then reached toward the hood. "Angel?"

His breath was sucked out of him when he heard the voice. It had changed.

The hood slid back from the face like a dream; so familiar, so dear. She smiled.

"It is not her," he whispered under his breath. He willed himself to move as she came toward him, but could not. "Stop," he protested, his voice much smaller than he'd intended. He caught the scent of sandalwood in her hair and could not resist the urge to reach out and touch it. His heart sighed at the silken feel of it; just as he remembered.

She stepped even closer. "You are shaking."

"This is an illusion."

She leaned up and brushed her lips ever so lightly against his cheek. "The world is illusion. You could have had this one."

"Get away from me," he said through clenched teeth. _The realness of her…_ His cheek burned from it.

She moved around him, circling him and whispering in that voice that should not be. "Your dream, remember? We were happy."

It flashed through his consciousness – the sweetness of her face as she looked up at him, the touch of her hand, the faces of the children; his children… his world was complete. He was husband and father, happy in the bliss of ignorance. His thoughts abided there a few more moments, wondering at the choices he'd made. _I could have walked away from everything for her._ He glanced down at his left hand. At one time, perhaps, but it was far too late to entertain such notions at this point in his life. There is no turning away from some things; from some knowledge.

"You could still have it," she said, facing him again. "I can make it so."

_This is some kind of sick, perverted test!_ It sickened him. "I am not interested in living a lie!" With incredible effort, he pushed her away from him. "For something with the power to manipulate my dreams, you do not seem to know very much about me. If you did, you would know that it is _truth_ that I seek in all things."

She pointed at him. "Why?"

"Why?" he repeated, taken aback by the question. He tried to still his chaotic thoughts as he searched for the answer.

"It is a simple question."

"No, it is not." He shook his head, looking down at his hands because looking at her made it hard to think. "It is a question from which all suffering is born. It is definitely not a simple question."

"Then why would a man such as yourself ask it? What drives you to seek the answer, to seek truth?"

"Because there is mystery in this world, something greater than us," he answered, impassioned. "I want to know it! Because I hope that one day all men may know it."

"Your precious Creed," she said without inflection. "Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. What does it mean?"

"You mean you do not know?" he asked, with no small amount of impatient sarcasm. "If there is some message you wish to impart, be out with it, for truly I am well past tired of these games." He waved his hand toward her to indicate the visage she had assumed that even now, tempted him to give in to the illusion.

She stared at him for a moment. He thought he saw anger flash over her features, but she quickly composed herself. "Very well. Here is your message: everything man clings to - love, greed, war, religion, all of these things are inventions of the mind. Even truth… and even the Creed."

He knew this, and well, save the last part. "No. The Creed is untainted. As long as the Brotherhood-"

"In your case, especially the Creed," she interrupted. "Even as you question it, you still think the Creed inviolable. You think that the Brotherhood will endure as its guardians? I will show you your folly, Altair. Behold the fruit of all your endeavors."

A violent wind whipped up, forcing him to cover his eyes against the sand that stung his skin wherever it struck, like countless tiny pins. When the roaring gale subsided, the scent of death assaulted his nostrils, strong and nauseating. He opened his eyes and what he saw caused his mouth to gape in shock.

He stood, quite alone, in the courtyard of the fortress at Masyaf. _No…_ His eyes took in the unbelievable scene, for all around him lay dead bodies; the aftermath of some great battle. _But how? When?_ He looked down, his hand covering his mouth. His brothers. _All dead!_ He scanned their faces, but found no familiar ones. _I do not recognize any of them!_ And the invaders… He knelt beside one of them, examining the man's weapons and face. _Mongols?_ His mind reeled in confusion as he stood.

His eyes rose to the fortress itself. Besides the damage to the walls he thought impenetrable, it looked somehow different - older. He made his way to the steps, his pace picking up as he climbed.

His heart dropped as he stood in the doorway of the library. The only sound was a gentle flapping caused by the breeze ruffling the pages from books and scrolls that had been scattered across the floor – the few books that remained, for most were simply gone. A collection that rivaled that of Alexandria when it came to obscure and arcane volumes, now vanished or stolen. The shelves were empty, some knocked over completely, some leaning against their neighbor.

As he headed up the stairs, his mind pictured Al Mualim or Malik waiting at the top, but there was no one. The desk that had occupied the same spot for his entire life with the Brotherhood was gone. He looked out the paneless window. The sight that greeted his eyes filled him with despair.

His feet feeling like stone, he walked though the Garden gate and down the middle path, looking around in horrified disbelief. Gone was the paradise: the fountains, flowers, the elaborate topiaries, gazebos and beautiful arches. He jumped down to the middle terrace. All around him was scorched, toppled, destroyed. How many hours had he spent enjoying the peaceful solitude here? Or the blissful distractions of Serena or another companion? At the edge of the terrace, he looked down and saw the bodies of the women of the Garden. Though he recognized none of their faces, so horrific was their state that he fell to his knees and retched.

When at last the dry heaving had ceased, he collapsed forward, tears blinding him as he clawed at the ground. He could make no sense out of what had happened. Here was his entire world, ruined. He struck the ground with his fist. _This cannot be! It must not be!_

He struggled to his feet. He had known fear in his life, but it had never bested him. The raw panic that flooded through him now subjugated anything he'd felt before. Illusion or no, he had to leave this place; leave or he would surely go insane. He stumbled through the library and back out into the courtyard, his hand covering his nose to block the stench.

As he descended the stairs, the bodies began to change before his eyes, the flesh decaying; falling away, leaving only skeletons. Soon the skeletons themselves disintegrated into dust, the wind blowing them away. He heard a cracking sound and looked over his left shoulder. A fissure had appeared in the wall of the tower, the large stones of the rampart crumbling and falling.

It was like he was witnessing a quickening of time itself, and it was having its way with everything he held dear. He looked back toward the library, suddenly remembering what lay beneath it. As much as he wanted to - needed to be far away from this nightmare, he turned back. _I have to know._

He pulled and pushed the dislocated bookshelves out of the way until the small door was uncovered. He was surprised to find that it appeared unmolested; the lock remained. He stepped back and kicked with all his might. The wood cracked but held. Again he kicked, a shooting pain traveling up his leg from the impact. Finally the door fell away, split down the middle.

He peered down the stairway, into the pitch black below. He carefully began the long descent toward the initiation chamber, feeling his way along the wall.

At the end of the long hallway at the bottom of the stairs, the door was open. He could see the chamber beyond, a fact that sent a shiver up his spine. _What illumines it?_ His fingers instinctively reached for the comfort of his hidden blade. He looked down at his arm and was shocked to realize that he had no weapons whatsoever. He hissed a sigh, cursing his failure to notice that before now. He moved down the hallway toward the door.

Stepping inside the chamber, every sense was heightened as he approached his goal - the painting. The eagle and the owl were but flakes of plaster littering the ground. He stared at the lone survivor: the raven, for it did hold the Piece of Eden in its beak, as it had in his meditation. That was the source of the illumination, and it glowed unearthly. The impossibility of it; of everything that had happened screamed through his mind as he searched for some clue, some morsel of order or reason.

_Everything we've worked for… in vain!_ He felt a great weariness settle over him. Unable to stand a moment longer, he sank down to the ground. He stared at the painting and fought his mind as it tried to sink into despair, drowning in an echoed refrain. _Nothing is true. Nothing is true. Nothing is true…_

"And now you understand," she said quietly from behind him.

"This is the future?" His voice sounded hollow.

"Yes."

"How do I know that _this_ is not just another illusion?"

"What does your heart tell you – your instinct?"

His heart felt like a leaden weight in his chest, and his instinct offered only confusion. It was his mind that answered. "The future is unknowable. Every thought, word and deed constantly shape and change it."

"So it is. There are exceptions to every rule under the heavens, however, and it is that which I offer you."

He closed his eyes, smiling bitterly. _So there it is_. He thought of Al Mualim, who had been faced with this moment – this temptation. Peace had been his former Master's goal, in the beginning.

Thinking of Al Mualim reminded him of a question that had perplexed him. "I was immune to the effects of the thrall. Why?"

"Because you are destined to wield that which I serve."

And just like that, he saw it in his mind. Peace was a lofty goal. His was smaller in scope, but no less fervently desired. It was horrible, this realization. He laughed - softly at first, then louder, until it became hard to distinguish whether he was laughing or sobbing. _I can save the Brotherhood._ The weight of it crushed him.

* * *

"Altair!"

He blinked and looked around, dazed.

"Altair!" Malik yelled.

"Here," he answered, getting to his feet. He looked in the direction Malik's voice had come from and spotted him approaching. Horrible images flashed through his mind. He struggled to suppress the barrage that threatened. It was too much to think about, and he sensed that trying would immobilize him. There was still the mission. The mission...

Malik trotted up, saving him from his thoughts. "Did you find it?"

"Find what?"

"Find what," Malik replied impatiently. "Noah's Ark! What do you think?"

Malik fell in step with him as he started walking back to the camp, gathering his wits as best he could. He'd left because he spotted her – it. "No. It must have been a trick of the light."

Malik eyed him, his brow furrowed in that characteristic way that meant he was not convinced. Altair prayed that his tenuous facade of calm held up in the face of his friend's scrutiny. He could feel the muscles in his face twitch subtly with the effort.

"Well... I am glad to hear it," Malik said at last. "Are you alright?"

The concern in his tone caused a wave of emotion to ripple dangerously close to the surface. He choked it down; hid it behind anger. "This little excursion has left me in a foul mood."

Malik dropped his stare, knowing him and his dark moods all too well. "Everything is calm at the camp," he said, changing the subject.

"Good. Hopefully the rest of our journey will be uneventful."

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

_AN: This was a grueling chapter to write. If you've read this far, bless you, hehe. I thank you for your indulgence, and I appreciate the reviews and feedback very much! Chapter 10 is in the editing phase.  
_


	10. What Price Wisdom? 6

_Accomplish the task set before me. Finish the mission._

He had numbed himself so that he could function. It took a considerable amount of energy. It was a coping mechanism, this going through the motions.

Unsurprisingly, there was no ambush in the next village, or the succeeding ones. Their trip had been unremarkable since the Captain had been eliminated. Now at long last it was drawing to a close.

Al Adil tried his best to ply them with coin and baubles for their assistance once they'd reached the fortress gate, going so far as to get angry with their refusal. The man obviously disliked feeling indebted to them. Malik coldly and effectively responded that he could repay them by finding a resolution to the unending bloodshed. Al Adil was set to argue when the trumpets announcing King Richard sounded.

Richard himself came out to welcome the party, going out of his way to appear the great and generous liege that legend was building him up to be.

Altair and Malik hung back a bit from the pomp and protocol. Altair watched Richard, the memory of their last meeting replaying in his mind. Al Adil bowed respectfully and presented Richard with a gilded box, no doubt holding some sort of gift from Saladin.

Richard's face was formal and welcoming as he shook Al Adil's hand. The Lionheart must have felt Altair's stare, because his eyes quickly scanned the crowd and found his. The King's brow furrowed slightly, but quickly smoothed as he nodded a silent greeting. Altair returned the gesture with a subtle smile, knowing Richard wondered why he was here. Richard held his gaze a moment longer then returned to Al Adil.

He sighed quietly, glad that the mission was complete. He and Malik would spend the night here and leave for home in the morning.

* * *

He sat on the bed in his small room, head resting on his drawn up knees. Once again he had spent most of the night awake, everything he'd been suppressing emerging, raw and gut wrenching. He'd tried meditating, but every time he settled enough to let go, those images assailed him. He leaned against the wall, exhausted to his bones.

The Piece of Eden sat beside him. He picked it up again, holding it with both hands. He was certain that it held the secret to saving the Brotherhood, that it would guide him if he agreed. _But how, and at what cost?_ The treasure stirred in his hand, a soft amber light coming from within.

"The actions you take as Master of the Brotherhood today will echo for generations, laying the foundation for future survival."

He didn't turn around. Didn't need to, didn't want to. "I do not need you to tell me that, Trickster."

"Trickster?" She laughed, the sound disturbing in its sensuality. "How quaint."

"Is there some name you would prefer, then?"

"How about Adah? It's a lovely name, after all."

He didn't answer, unwilling to engage in more mind games. His hold on his mind was precarious enough as it was. The vision continued to haunt him. He couldn't stop seeing his dead brothers.

Why had the Mongols attacked the Brotherhood – or more accurately, why would they? Was it directed toward the Brotherhood specifically or were they just another conquest? If only he knew when the attack would occur.

She spoke, replying to his thoughts. "Between the Mongols and the Mamluks, the Brotherhood will pass from greatness to nothing more than fanciful legends in less than one small century."

He closed his eyes. "So soon," he whispered, a fresh wave of despair crashing into him.

He heard the loud snap of her fingers. "A blink of an eye to one such as I."

* * *

Malik reached across the dining table and thumped his nose. "You aren't even listening, are you?"

"What?" he said sharply, smacking Malik's hand away.

"I asked you if this foul mood of yours is likely to end anytime soon."

"You certainly aren't helping it."

"And what have I done?"

He glowered. The only thing Malik had done was not bear the weight of the knowledge that he himself was now burdened with. He knew it was irrational, but it annoyed him. "Nothing," he conceded, pushing away from the table. "If you're done, we should get underway."

"Fine with me." Malik stood and gathered his bag. "The sooner we get home the better."

* * *

It was mid-day when they stopped at a stream to allow the horses to drink and to fill their own waterskins.

"Company approaching," Malik said.

Altair turned and spotted five riders heading for the stream. They had a rag-tag appearance about them. The few pieces of mismatched armor they wore suggested thievery as a possible profession.

The leader, a heavy-set barrel of a man, confirmed his suspicion when he spoke. "What do you know? Two traveling scholars, alone on the road."

"I've never seen scholars with such fine weapons. Surely they have no need of them," a bald accomplice said in a sarcastic drawl.

"You do not want this kind of trouble," Altair replied, his voice full of warning. Part of him was hoping it would be unheeded. It shamed him, but he could not deny it: predators such as these tended to evoke in him a desire for extreme violence.

What are you going to do, scholar – read me to death?" He and his accomplices laughed as they dismounted and pulled their weapons. The bloated leader strutted smugly towards Ashara, his eyes on Altair's sword.

"You really do not want to do that," Malik cautioned.

Altair looked on, waiting on the inevitable. Sure enough, when the man approached Ashara from behind, she kicked him, sending him flying back into the dirt.

Malik shook his head and rolled his eyes.

The leader coughed, holding his ribs as he clamored to his feet. "I'll take care of this bitch horse." His four accomplices stood ready to attack on his word.

Altair drew his short blade and placed himself between Ashara and the leader. His blade hummed in his hand, poised to strike, his eyes pinning the man and daring him to move.

A heavy tension hung in the air, the silence broken only by the horses' breath and the gentle flow of the stream.

"Walk away if you value your lives," Malik said.

The quiet lasted a few seconds more. The leader snorted derisively. "Take them," he instructed.

Precise and deadly as an eagle's prey dive, Altair shot forward and swept his blade around in an smooth arc, severing the jugular and windpipe of the leader.

The next one was still reacting in stunned shock when he set upon him, stabbing his foot, then wrenching the blade up and slicing the man's face open, turning his own face to avoid the spray of blood.

Malik had dropped the third and was fighting the fourth, his sword locking overhead with his foe's. He spun to the side, causing the man to overbalance. Taking advantage of the man's stance, Malik finished him with a wicked run-through.

Altair stood facing the last of them. The man had an aged, wily and weathered look to him. He'd seen many battles. He'd hung back observing, but now a slow smile spread across his face.

"You fight well for a scholar, boy." He tapped the sole of his boot with his sword in some apparent exercise of superstition. "I am Jafir, and it will be an honor to defeat you," he said. He raised his sword, pointing at Altair and beckoning him forward. Altair narrowed his eyes and waited, denying the man his bravado. Jafir laughed softly and advanced.

Altair blocked a wide swing, Jafir's heavy blade crashing into his short one. The impact jarred him to the teeth. Jafir landed a stabbing punch to his mid-section, forcing the wind out of him.

Altair steadied himself in time to block another swing, but Jafir's long blade slid off, grazing his arm hard enough to bring an involuntary grunt from him. His anger flared with the pain before he crushed it, returning to the intense, almost supernatural concentration of battle.

They circled each other, each blocking or dodging when the other struck. The man was fast. Altair landed a punch but found only air when he tried to follow with his blade.

Jafir still wore that cocky smile. Altair briefly wondered if he would carry it into death when an opening presented itself. He kicked Jafir in the stomach and knocked his helmet off. Bringing his short blade over his head with both hands, he stabbed down with all his might. The blade hesitated only slightly as it met the resistance of the man's skull, embedding itself into his brain to the hilt. The cocky smile was gone.

After yanking his blade out, he leaned over, catching his breath.

"Well fought," Malik said, sheathing his sword.

He shook his head as he rose up. "No, it wasn't." He inspected his arm, which bore the proof of his assessment. It stung as he peeled his undershirt off the wound. Thankfully it wasn't too deep.

Malik didn't comment further, knowing the impossible standards he held himself to.

He retrieved some salve and a bandage from his saddlebag, pausing to thank Ashara with a pat. "Good girl," he said under his breath. Making his way to the stream, he removed his hood and gloves. He knelt and washed the blood off, splashing the cool water over his head, then sat down to tend to the wound. When he finished he saw that Malik had already saddled up.

"I tried to warn the fool about Ashara," Malik said, chuckling.

He forced a laugh, but otherwise didn't answer. Already the adrenaline was fading, leaving him with a hollow feeling. He stepped up into the saddle and nodded toward Malik, who led them away.

* * *

The days began to blend together, a blur of constant riding and fatigue from little to no sleep. He'd spotted the black-cloaked figure a few times. Like a ghost she appeared at the periphery of his vision. And the dreams. When he did sleep, it was never for very long because of the dreams.

He took a stick and stirred the small camp fire.

Malik unwrapped a piece of cheese and bread and offered some to him. He waved it away. "I am not hungry." He returned his gaze to the fire, the hypnotizing flames allowing his mind to rest within their orange glow.

Malik stared at him. "Alright. Give it to me."

"Give you what?"

"The Piece of Eden."

"Why?"

"Just give me the damned thing, Altair!"

"We do not know what would happen if you handled it, and anyway, what possible good could it do for you to carry it as opposed to myself?"

"Carry it? No, I will destroy the thing – destroy it as we should have done."

"No," he answered, his voice pointed and not inviting further discussion.

Malik seemed to acquiesce to his wish and was quiet for a short while. Apparently he was not finished, however. "You are slipping away, right before my eyes, my friend. We've been on the road for nearly a week and you've barely slept, spoken or eaten. If you could see yourself…"

He was speechless for a moment, rubbing his eyes. "I-" he started. "I cannot have this conversation. Not right now."

Malik stood up and walked over to where his bag lay a few feet away.

"Leave it, Malik" he said, reaching for the bag. Malik hurried and snatched it. He got to his feet. "Put it down. I will not ask again," he warned, his temper rising. Malik stubbornly ignored him, walking away and laying the bag down. As he bent over and opened the flap, Altair took three quick steps and angrily pushed him, harder than he'd intended. Malik stumbled off his feet. Altair picked the bag up. "You just cannot listen, can you?"

Malik scowled and launched himself at him, his fist connecting with his jaw and sending him reeling. "Give it to me, you asinine fool! Give it to me or I will take it from you!"

He clung to the bag, his jaw feeling like shattered pottery. "Try and I assure you that you will regret it." He'd barely gotten the words out when Malik tackled him. They fell to the dirt, wrestling for the bag. Despite the pain in his arm, he grabbed Malik's face and held him away from the bag. He threw the bag away from them, realizing he needed both hands.

Even one-armed, Malik was a formidable grappler, and he used every advantage available to him, so it was no surprise when he grasped his newly injured arm, his fingers clawing into the wound as he climbed over him toward the bag. He hissed at the hot stab of pain. "Bastard!" He rolled over, grasping at Malik's boot. Malik kicked furiously, successfully freeing himself and clamoring forward. In a flash he had the bag opened and was reaching inside.

"Do not do this, please!"

Malik froze, then slowly looked back at him. The extremely rare and desperate use of the word please had had the desired effect. "Then you had better start talking, brother," Malik said.

He sat up and slowly shook his head, trying to find words. The knot of frustration in his stomach made his breath shallow and tight. "There is good reason why I have not told you everything. I hated lying to you… I would not burden your mind with the horrors I have seen. It is because of those horrors that we must not destroy the treasure."

Malik's scowl subsided, concern taking its place. "This has something to do with when you left Al Adil's camp, doesn't it? What did you see?"

"The same black-cloaked figure from my dreams, and the same one I'm fairly sure I saw in Damascus. She is-"

"She?" Malik interrupted.

He nodded with a bitter smile. "I do not think it has a single form, but is able to change at will. It has pulled a memory from my mind… my heart."

"Oh no. Not Adah."

"Yes. It is disquieting, to say the least." He stood and went to sit on his blanket by the fire.

Malik sighed heavily. "I am sure it is."

"She – it seems to be testing me, showing me visions and challenging my perceptions, almost like…" he trailed off, furrowing his brow. A realization had tried to form but it slipped away as he reached for it.

Malik tossed him his bag. "Take it out. Let us see if I become your mindless slave."

He frowned. "That is not funny. One of us has to stay sane."

"Surely if it were going to affect me it would have done so already. You said you wanted to explore it away from Masyaf."

"That was before… everything."

Malik stared, cocking an eyebrow.

"Fine." He reached in the bag and withdrew it. "Here, but mind any iota of alarm."

Malik took it and sat down by the fire to examine it. Altair watched him and the treasure closely. "It's hollow," Malik muttered. "I cannot wait to get home to the library so that we can decipher these engravings." Finally he handed it back and Altair exhaled with relief that nothing untoward had transpired.

They sat in silence, watching the fire. He rubbed his jaw, realizing both it and his arm would hurt a lot more tomorrow. They had a day and a half of riding ahead of them before they made it home. It felt as if they'd been gone months.

"We should be ashamed of ourselves," Malik said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Masters brawling like school boys."

He tried to smile, but was unable to do a very convincing job of it. "We should get some sleep." He stretched out, using the bag as a pillow.

"You definitely should," Malik agreed.

He longed for sleep, but dreaded it for the dreams it brought. He stared at the fire until his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open.

* * *

_Home._ He was relieved by the sight of the fortress, though it was more from habit than any real sense that his world had somehow righted itself. Images from the horrible vision flashed through his mind, wherever his eyes lit.

He relied on Malik to bear the gauntlet of greetings as they entered. Malik must have been correct about his appearance. The worried looks on his brothers' faces when they saw him certainly seemed to confirm it.

They sought out Saleem and spoke with him regarding the mission. Saleem regarded him with concern in his eyes. "Are you ill, Altair?"

"Overly tired, brother," he replied, removing his gloves.

"Ah. I imagine you both would like to rest after your journey. We will convene tomorrow, then," Saleem said.

He nodded and took his leave. "I am off to the baths as I am quite overdue. Safety and peace, brothers."

* * *

He sat on his bed, running a towel over his wet hair. The bath had made him feel like something a little closer to human. There was a soft knock at his door. "Come in," he called and resumed drying his hair.

"I have brought you some food and drink," said a familiar voice.

He looked up, surprised. "Serena? What brings you here?"

She smiled. "Concern for a friend." She sat the tray down on the table next to the bed and handed him the cup.

He drank the watered down wine, his mind putting the pieces together. As Master he was free to have whomever he pleased in his private rooms, and Serena had visited, but it was unusual that she had appeared out of the blue, uninvited. "This is Malik's work, no doubt."

"Word travels fast here, you know that," she said. "If you are not pleased to see me-"

He reached out for her hand. "It is always good to see you, but I am not much company tonight, I'm afraid."

Her smile waned. "You look horrible."

He laughed weakly. "Yes, I am aware of that."

She sat down on the bed, moving around behind him. Her hands massaged his shoulders, kneading into the tension trapped in the muscles. He leaned his head forward, taking a deep breath and letting it out.

"Lie down," she said.

He stretched out on his stomach and gave himself over to the comfort of her touch as she continued her ministrations, humming softly all the while. Occasionally he winced when she hit an overstressed pressure point, but she soon had the knots smoothed out. The heavy fatigue and worry were driven back for the first time in weeks, an irresistible drowsiness settling in their place. It occurred to him that he should thank Serena, but sleep pulled him down before the words could form.

* * *

_A/N: Serena is an OC who has appeared in two of my one-shots. No romance there, just friendship. If you're curious about their meeting, check out "The Garden", but be warned, it is swimming with fluff. Take a blade with you to navigate. ;)_


	11. What Price Wisdom? 7

* * *

He drifted in and out of the realms of Morpheus. He dreamed of past mistakes, dead brothers and blame. Once, he awakened when Malik came into his rooms and asked for his journal, explaining that he wanted to begin work on deciphering the engravings. He'd pointed to his bag and fell back into fitful sleep.

He rubbed his eyes, having lost count of how many times he'd awakened. He squinted against the sun coming through the window, realizing that it must be mid-day. Giving up the fight, he rose from the battlefield and dressed.

Hopefully Malik had made some headway with the engravings. He would try the library first.

* * *

Malik stood at the desk, almost obscured by the stacks of books around him. "Clever move, sending Serena."

Malik looked around a stack at him and smiled. "Whatever are you talking about, brother?"

"Please. Do not even try to deny your involvement."

"Did you sleep well?"

"I slept, though I seem to have forgotten how to do it well. Making any progress?"

"Yes! Come and look at this," Malik replied, his voice rising with excitement. He pointed to the journal page. "This part… _On every scale is written 'thou shalt'_."

"Scale?" He searched the page. He'd seen nothing resembling a scale. When he saw the dragon, it dawned on him that he was thinking of the wrong kind of scale. He pointed to it. "On every scale."

Malik nodded. "And here… _Khadhulu, the sword of Gnosis_."

He pondered the information. "The sword that slays the dragon," he muttered. "So the dragon could represent the world."

"The illusion of the world. The scales are the many fetters that keep men blind."

"And the eagle is purity of vision; the ability to see the dragon for what it is."

"I had not gotten that far." Malik looked down at the page. "I will need to confirm it with the indexes, but it makes sense."

"Anything else?"

Malik pointed to another group of symbols. "_Logos_. And this one is _unfathomable_, or _formless_ - the Persian and Egyptian Treatises disagree."

He leaned back on the desk and crossed his arms. "Well done, brother," he muttered, finger tapping his lip as he thought.

"What is it?" Malik asked.

He sighed. "What is the origin of the thing and what is its true purpose? That is what I want to know."

"Patience, brother. I am close. Once we have the full picture…"

"I hope you are right."

"In the meantime, perhaps you could ask your black-cloaked adversary?" Malik suggested.

"I have done so, but have yet to receive an answer."

Malik chuckled. "Mystical beings are notoriously obtuse unless asked the right question in the right way."

He stared at Malik, wondering why he hadn't thought of that. "That is a very good point." He rose to leave. "I will let you get back to work."

"I already checked the painting, by the way. The raven holds nothing in its beak," Malik said.

"Hmm. Interesting, but somehow not surprising," he replied, before continuing on his way.

* * *

The hum of activity around the fortress was somewhat distracting – a good thing, he decided. It allowed him to focus on something else for a while. After having something to eat he made the rounds and checked in with Saleem, Rashad and Ghassan and discovered there had been trouble with one of the brothers while they were away. Unsurprisingly, it had been Radi. He'd made an ass of himself in the training ring, injuring his opponent after being warned to check his aggression by the Weapon Master. Ghassan had looked relieved when he said he would speak to the young man. Radi had received punishment but the others weren't sure if it had had any effect on the stubborn Assassin.

The latest report from Jaffa stated that negotiations were ongoing between Richard and Al Adil, with no reports of either side ready to give in yet. It took ages for these things to unfold, however, what with all the protocols and ridiculous posturing.

"Master, it is good to see you have returned," Mahdi said, pulling him from his thoughts.

He paused to speak with him. "It is good to be home, Mahdi. I am curious to hear how my students fared during my absence."

The Weapon Master smiled. "You should be proud. None slackened in their training."

"Truly? I am glad to hear it, for their sakes. I heard about Radi. I do hope that Sahir will recover from his injuries quickly."

Mahdi huffed. "Radi… oh, how that one vexes me! If you do not mind me saying so, I felt as if I had traveled back in time. Could you speak to him, Master? He respects you, and seemingly no one else," Mahdi said, his face drawn with consternation.

"Yes. I suppose I am uniquely qualified to counsel him as to the error of his ways, especially when it comes to acting out in the training ring."

Mahdi assumed a delicately diplomatic tone. "I think that your experience would be of great benefit to him."

"I will speak to him. Safety and peace, brother."

"To you as well, Master." Mahdi nodded as he walked away.

He had one more stop to make before tracking down Radi. He had no trouble finding her. He just followed the sound of her harp until it led him to where she was sitting, under the gazebo. "I've missed hearing you play," he said.

She turned, a soft smile on her face. "How did you sleep?"

He shrugged off the question. "I came to thank you."

"Sometimes all that is needed is a gentle touch and our cares drop away."

"Yes, you are quite the expert, though I cannot help but think that Malik was somehow involved in this conspiracy."

"He told me of your exhaustion and asked me to visit you. We were both concerned about you," she said.

He could see the concern on her face and it touched him. "I am grateful for the thoughtful subterfuge. You are well, I hope?"

She nodded, her long fingers moving lightly across the harp strings, pulling a faint whisper of sound from them. "I am. I have missed our conversations."

"As have I. It is not choice that has kept me away, my friend. Hopefully they will resume soon." He dropped his gaze. "I will leave you to your music then, Siren."

"Do take care of yourself, Altair."

"I shall do my best," he said as he turned and left her.

* * *

"Radi," he called to the back of the Assassin. Radi turned, his smile evaporating. His brothers quickly surmised what was about to transpire and after a respectful bow, departed the scene.

Radi bowed. "Yes, Master?"

"Come, I would speak with you." He walked toward the tower, the young Assassin falling in step behind him.

They climbed up to the very top of the tower. Altair walked to the edge and pointed to the parapet. "Stand here."

"As you wish," Radi replied nervously.

He suddenly pushed Radi, causing him to lose his balance. Radi cried out in surprise. As he tipped over the edge, Altair shot his hand out and grabbed his leg, wrapping his arm around it and stopping him from plummeting head first from the tower. Radi dangled precariously, his fall halted only by his firm grasp.

"Master, please! _Mercy!_"

"Did I not warn you, Radi?"

"Yes, Master! I-I am sorry!"

He let Radi's uncertainty about his intentions stretch on a few more seconds. "It is the Brotherhood which holds you, Assassin. Ignore that fact at your own peril. Is my meaning clear?"

"Yes! I understand!"

He let him dangle a moment more, then pulled him back, dragging him against the stone. He waited for Radi to collect himself before speaking again. "When I refused to honor the rules of the training ring because of my own arrogance, Al Mualim forced me to face every brother in residence, unarmed. Afterwards, despite my injuries and fatigue, I was made to stand in the hot sun, my sword balanced upon my head for hours. Each time the sword fell, I was brutally lashed with a cane. Do you think you could endure such a trial, boy?" he asked, his voice hard and cold.

Radi swallowed hard. "I am sure that I could not, Master."

He continued. "No, I do not think that you could. I barely endured it myself, eventually succumbing to heat exhaustion. Yet remarkably, even that extreme punishment did not drive my stubbornness from me. It took great tragedy to make me understand that as brothers, we are one. Do not make the same mistake I did. Learn the difference between pride and arrogance. Humility is the hallmark of a great warrior, while vanity is a hollow sword. Rely on it and you will be destroyed."

Radi was quiet for a moment, his face reflecting his consideration of the counsel. "Thank you, Master. I will heed your words and meditate on their wisdom. I will not fail you again."

"You will find no mercy should you do so," he said, his voice edged with warning. He stared a moment longer then took his leave, leaving Radi to wonder what he should do with himself.

He knew he'd made an impression and hoped it would be a lasting one. They needed strength such as his, but they needed unity more. Especially now.

The rest of his day was spent on the Brotherhood, tending to the various and myriad details that his position required – meetings, mostly. He'd never realized just how complex the work Al Mualim had done was – and he had done it alone. He was relatively certain that it had played a large part in why his former Master had rarely left the fortress.

When he finally retired to his rooms, the day done, he was almost looking forward to sleep. Though he was asleep before his head hit the pillow, it was, as ever, a restless night.

* * *

The next morning, after breakfast he headed back to his rooms to retrieve his bag and the treasure, intent on taking it with him when he went down to the initiation chamber. Despite Malik's comment he wanted to see the painting for himself. It had been a while since he'd meditated down there and it might be worthwhile to try. He looked over at Malik on his way, but his face was buried in the stacks.

On his way back he stopped to ask if he had made any more progress. When he saw the look on his face, he knew he had. He also wondered if he had slept at all since yesterday. His face was haggard and his normally pristine robes were rumpled. "What is it?"

"I've been looking at the answer the whole time. Al Mualim was wrong, or more likely purposely did not reveal the whole story. The treasure is not temptation, brother. It is trial. That is its nature. What we have here is a guardian."

"A guardian? I don't understand. Al Mualim said that the treasure was responsible for perpetrating some of the grandest illusions the world has ever fallen for."

"I don't have all the answers, only what can be deduced from what is written upon it."

"Is there a name?"

Malik pointed at the same symbol he'd first translated on the roof under the moonlight. "Khadhulu."

"That cannot be right, Malik. Khadhulu is not a name, but-"

"A force," Malik finished with a satisfied, scholarly smile. "The Piece of Eden is a tool, and it guards its wisdom well."

He pushed a stack of books out of the way and sat on the desk as he took in the information. "Temptation," he muttered.

"Temptation is only a gatekeeper."

"So Al Mualim and the Templars failed the trial, destroyed when they succumbed to the temptations of power."

"And you were the sword that slew them, Altair. It seems fate has finally shown her hand." Malik pointed to his sword.

He shook his head, his mind reeling. Given what Malik had discovered, he decided to share what he'd hidden. "The vision it showed me, it was the future. Less than a hundred years from now - the destruction of the Brotherhood. The fortress in ruins, the brothers all dead."

Now Malik sat down, his face solemn with thought. They sat in silence for a long while, each considering the ramifications of what they'd discovered.

They had been taught that Khadhulu was a spiritual force that liberated one from all self-imposed limitations. Only after many years of study and practice could one even get a small taste of it. Most died before ever achieving it.

Fate had revealed her hand, indeed. The question was, could he let go of the Brotherhood – the knowledge that it would fall? If he gave in to the temptation, what would he become? Would he become blinded to all he'd worked for spiritually? Every bit of insight clouded with delusion? The thought chilled him. This was battle on a whole different level than he was used to.

"I will seclude myself and meditate," he said at last. "Allow no one into the chamber while I am down there, no matter what."

Malik nodded, a resigned look in his eyes. "Safety and peace, brother."

Never had those words meant more. "You are the only one who can match my blade, Malik. I expect you to do so if necessary." With that he picked up his bag and headed toward the initiation chamber.

* * *

He opened the door to the chamber, some part of him relieved to find that it was in total darkness as it should be. He held the torch up and entered, stopping to light the wall sconces along the way.

He stood before the painting. The eagle, the owl and the raven, unblemished except for the natural fading that had occurred with time. All those years ago, when he'd spent three nights in the sub-chamber here in preparation for his initiation in the Brotherhood, the three had appeared to him in a vision. He'd welcomed that vision and the wisdom it revealed. He reached out and touched the plaster, running his fingers over the surface, tracing the outline of the raven's beak.

Stepping back, he sat down and settled himself on the floor in front of the painting. He withdrew the treasure from the bag and placed it in front of him.

The fatigue bore down on him from all sides – physical, mental, emotional - as he tried to center himself. He was raw, ragged and something else he was loath to admit, even to himself: afraid.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. He reached up and removed his hood.

He tried the breathing exercises that facilitated a calm mind. Inhale, six heartbeats, hold, exhale four heartbeats. His heart beat erratically, more so as time passed. It was like a horse, running, stopping, walking, galloping.

He stood up, frustration turning to anger. He paced. Cursed his distraction, his weariness, his fear.

He stopped in front of the painting, hands clasped and resting on his head. Even looking at the eagle shamed him given his thoughts. The eagle, so beautifully depicted in a semi-profile fashion, talons outstretched toward the raven, the golden eyes focused, fearless. _As I should be_. He took a deep breath, loosing some of the tension twisting his mind and stomach.

"Your father named you well, Altair."

He closed his eyes. _Not now_. _Not yet_.

"If not now, when? What more needs to be said? You know what you must do."

He looked at the ornate script that bordered the paintings around the chamber, repeated numerous times. A litany of commandments echoed in his mind:

_Thou shalt stay thy blade from the flesh of the innocent. _

_Thou shalt be in the world, but not of it._

_Thou shalt not compromise the Brotherhood._

_Thou shalt hold and honor The Creed above all things._

"Leave me, Aži," he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Never."

His stomach lurched at the simple word, whispered from her lips. _Never._ Such a prospect virtually promised insanity. _Is that what happened to Al Mualim?_ "I will not choose. Not now. If I am destined to wield that which you serve, then logic dictates that you must obey my wish."

Her laughter caressed his ears as she disappeared right before his eyes. The laughter. It took him back in time, far from this madness. i_It was a lifetime ago/i_. He suddenly felt old beyond his years. Tired. _So tired_. He slid down the wall, grateful that she'd gone – from sight, at least.

After a while he straightened, tried to shake off the malaise and attempt to focus again. He made some small progress, slowly gathering the uncontrolled thoughts, observing with his inner eye, letting go. His breath carried him deeper.

* * *

It took hours – perhaps days – for him to achieve a steady mind. It was difficult to tell how much time had passed given that the chamber was underground. As it had during his initiation, the line between dreams and wakefulness blurred. Did he sleep? He could not say. At times he was aware of the ground beneath him, the hunger in his stomach, the pain in his body.

He was waiting… for something. Some insight independent of the haunting presence of the treasure, a beacon from his spirit telling him the proper path. Save the Brotherhood or let it fall. Scenarios played themselves out, often confusing him. He observed and let them go, clinging to none. When the true answer came, he would recognize it. Hopefully. He waited.

* * *

The door to the chamber opened, shattering the silence and jerking his awareness back. He turned to see Malik approaching. Malik knew he required solitude, so this could not bode well. Alarmed, he stood to question him. "Is something wrong?"

Malik stopped a few yards away. "Yes. Something is wrong. I cannot let you do this."

He wiped his eyes, trying to resist the annoyance that flared from the interruption. "First, while I appreciate your concern, I do not recall asking for your permission. Second, I am the only one who can do this. If saving the Brotherhood means that I must accept the dragon – dive head first into the illusion, I will do so unless I can discover some other way." Hearing himself speak the words aloud was shocking.

Malik shook his head. "No. You misunderstand me, Altair. I cannot let _you_ do this because you are blind. All you see is the Brotherhood as it stands today. The greater potential is lost on you."

He stared at Malik a moment, unwilling to assume the worst considering his state of mind. "This is sounding eerily familiar." He held a finger up and slowly pointed at him. "Choose your next words with great care, brother. What are you saying?"

There was no time to react. A glint of whirling steel caught the firelight as it flashed through the air, striking him in the upper chest, just below his shoulder. It felt as if all the blood drained out of him when it hit. He looked down at the knife handle, his mind rebelling against the sight. "You… betray the Creed? Betray me? No." It was inconceivable. Unless… _No! _Pain spread from the site of the knife's impact like a burst of lightning, a delayed reaction that left him breathless.

"You are not the only one who has been shown visions." Malik walked over, leaned down and picked up the treasure, placing it in the deep pocket of his robe. "I am afraid that I withheld some of the translation from you, brother. With that information and the power the treasure holds, I will ensure that the Brotherhood will become so powerful that none shall oppose us. I will raise armies of Assassins and fighting men, loyal to the Brotherhood – loyal to me."

The words sounded surreal to him. He shook his head. "The Piece of Eden has enthralled you, brother. It is not concern for the Brotherhood I see in your eyes, but lust! The same I beheld in our former Master. Will you disregard completely the lessons his folly taught?! Turn away from this path of destruction."

Malik pursed his lips and looked upward a moment as if contemplating his words. "No. I think not," he sniped. He cocked his head slightly to the side, regarding him in a detached manner. "You have been my worst enemy, and my greatest friend. For what it is worth, I am sorry. I wish there was another way." He began to walk toward the door.

He groaned, but dared not remove the knife yet. "There is another way. You know it well, better than I…" He choked back a wave of pain that threatened to send him to his knees. "You always have, Malik. Open your eyes!"

Malik paused, turning. Something haunted passed over his features, something born in the Temple of Solomon that had quietly festered inside of him. His voice was quiet but sure when he replied. "Yes, I always have. My loyalty never wavered. Now, I assure you, my eyes are open. I will no longer suspect. I will _know_. Goodbye, Altair. I suggest you remove the knife. It will be a more pleasant death. No one knows that you are here, and once I lock the doors…"

He gritted his teeth as he moved toward him. "You will _not_ leave this chamber with the treasure."

Malik reached for another throwing knife and launched it. He dodged it, just barely, hearing it sing as it passed his ear. He drew his short blade before he grasped Malik's robes and threw him into the wall. He closed, trapping him, his forearm to his throat, blade to his gut. "Stop this madness!"

The eyes staring back at him contained little of the brother and best friend he knew. They were cold, seething. Malik squirmed, freeing his arm from where it was trapped between their bodies. In a flash he grasped the handle of the knife embedded in his chest and twisted it, brutally enlarging the wound.

He cried out in pain and frustration from the bottom of his soul.

Malik yanked the knife out and Altair immediately saw his intent. Time slowed as Malik's arm reared back and began its descent toward his neck.

Some instinct took over - it felt like he floated outside of his body unable to stop it - he watched himself push his blade into Malik's solar plexus, angled upwards until it hit the wall behind him. He ripped the blade quickly up.

Malik's face was bright with shock before melting into sorrowful confusion. "Altair?" His voice was a whisper, barely audible. In contrast, the throwing knife sounded impossibly loud, clattering as it hit the floor.

He withdrew his own blade and threw it away, catching Malik's body as it crumpled to the floor. Malik looked as if he would speak again, but the words never came. The light went out in his eyes and his face resolved itself into peace.

"Malik?" he whispered as the full weight of what he'd done hit him. "Malik!" Frantic and nearly delirious, he pressed a hand to the wound, trying to gather the obscene amount of blood in an effort to somehow push it back inside of his friend's body. He sat back finally, wiping the blood onto his already stained tunic, the futility stark, unquestionable. He covered his mouth as a great sob choked him. "What have I done?"

He swooned, dizzy with grief and the loss of his own blood. His body heaved, rent with guilt and agonized cries.

Collapsing into a heap, the sobs slowly subsided as his grip on consciousness waned. He thought that he caught the faint sound of black wings descending to render him unto oblivion. The deep-seated, secret fear of his own death that he'd buried in his soul vanished. _I am ready_.

* * *

_A/N: And so we come to the crux of the issue, the title of this story arc: What price wisdom? Altair is discovering it is a very high price indeed. :(_


	12. What Price Wisdom? 8

_His mind balanced on a blade for an eternity. At times, he raged against the madness that tried to claim him. Yet he also took refuge in it, in moments of weakness. In between, the Liminal was a vast, dark wilderness, bleak and empty. He wandered, lost for a time until something called to him from out of the silence. Though he did not recognize it, he was compelled to follow it, to the very edge of this strange landscape. Looking over the edge, the blackest abyss yawned before him, terrifying. He hesitated. Again he heard the call. His spirit answered. He jumped, and found the light at last. _

He stirred, his body a foreign thing. It ached heavy and dull, though his mind was somewhat alert. He groaned, bringing a hand to his head for a moment as he adjusted. His eyes took in the ceiling of the initiation chamber, slid idly over the representations of astrological beasts in the heavens. Once again, time seemed an indefinable thing. Scratching his chin, he noted the stubble. _Three days worth, perhaps._

He pushed himself up to a sitting position, wincing from the pain in his shoulder, the shock of it quickly bringing back to him what had transpired. _Malik!_ There was a stabbing feeling in his heart.

With agonized slowness he turned toward his brother's corpse, eyes downcast in a feeble rebellion of guilt. _If I had not killed him, he surely would have killed me, blinded as he was_. Somehow the argument seemed hollow. He forced himself to raise his eyes and bear witness to what he'd done.

_Nothing. _There was nothing. No body, no blood, anywhere apart from that on his tunic. His eyes widened in surprise, his jaw slack. _Another illusion?! But it was so real!_ He looked at his hand, remembering how he tried to reverse Malik's blood loss. Yes, there were some traces of blood on his hand, but was it Malik's?

His hand went to his shoulder as he looked down at the wound in his chest. It was certainly real, but if not Malik, what caused it? His eyes scanned the floor, pinpointed a throwing knife laying a little ways away. He crawled over and retrieved it. _My own_. The insignia left no doubt. He turned it in his hand. There was dried blood in the ditches of the engravings. Sighing, he replaced the knife in his belt. Given that Malik was apparently never truly here, the only explanation that offered itself was that he'd stabbed himself in some fit of madness, but he had no memory of doing so. He would likely never know the answer, he realized. It would be a waste of time to dwell on it. He suddenly recalled a bit of a Buddhist text that he had read: _The more you look, the more it is not there._

He turned and spotted the treasure where he remembered placing it. His mind replayed all that had happened over the past weeks and for the first time, the sense of panic and fear was absent. The events and happenings were pieces of a puzzle snapping into place, leading him to this point of clarity. And clarity it was, as if clouds had parted in his mind. Strange that he should find it now after nearly ending himself. _Or maybe not_. He inhaled, feeling a new resolve.

_There is nothing permanent in this world. _He said the words often, but only now realized that he had excluded the Brotherhood from that insight, as he had excluded the Creed from any questioning in his mind. He'd accused Malik of using the Creed as a shield, but he himself had done the very same.

It was very hard to be in the world but not of it, to know something of the nature of truth and still function amidst the delusion, lies and corruption that surrounded men. Harder still to not succumb to the illusory temptations and desire for security, structure and survival.

_I needed an anchor amidst the illusion, a shield against temptation_: _The Creed_.

The Brotherhood would fall or persist regardless of his clinging to it. The more he clung to it, the more he endangered both it and himself. He'd made his decision.

He rose, legs somewhat shaky and weak. He waited for the dizziness to pass, staring at the small little ball of silver. The apple, the dragon. Its temptations and deceptions were timeless, obligation being the most insidious.

He drew his sword. He looked closely at it, seeing the hilt and engravings as if for the first time. The eagle in full relief, poised and ready to strike, its vision crystalline and resolve complete. It was his totem, his spirit guide. He lost it for a while in that vast wilderness when he stumbled alone in the dark.

He flourished the blade in his hand in a slow figure eight, focusing his entire being on the tip of the blade. This journey had brought him to the edge of sanity; tested him and every belief and perception he held dear.

_I will not submit_. Now, his vision was clear. He would continue to honor the Creed and serve the Brotherhood, but he would not be enslaved to it.

_I see through the illusion, __Aži_. As he brought the blade over his head, the eagle called out, spread its wings and dived as the blade descended.

_I will transcend_.

The tip of his sword pierced the Piece of Eden, an explosion of light blinding him, burning him from the inside out.

_History unfolded before him. He saw the birth and death of gods – the stories and myths that man created to explain his struggles and yearnings, and the connections between those stories – impossible similarities in disparate cultures. And beyond the stories, the gods, the symbols… the Truth. Gnosis._

He yanked the tip of his sword out of the floor and staggered breathlessly backwards before regaining his footing. He bent to steady himself for a moment, his spirit burning still. _Such revelations!_ He thought of taking out his journal to record it before he lost any part of what he'd seen.

Turning his head, he saw that the Piece of Eden was gone, obliterated. He raised himself and looked once more at his sword. The blade was blackened. He rubbed it with his thumb, wondering at it. The warm steel shone as new underneath the soot.

His eyes were drawn to the painting, saw a shimmering in front of it as if something were manifesting. He watched as it gathered, a being of radiant golden light.

He struggled to find his tongue as he recognized it. Gone was the black cloak, the familiar, bittersweet countenance. "You…," he started, but the words escaped him. The only question that fully formed was the one he'd asked before. "What are you?"

_"I am but one emanation of many. To the worthy, I am transcendence. To the unworthy, I am destruction. I am of the Word; that which preceded what men call God." _

Awe filled his spirit. Here was the end of all questions.

_"Why do you not bow?"_

He thought about it. He had felt the urge to drop to his knees, but it had been fleeting. He took a breath and found his voice. "I meant no offense. I am grateful - humbled even - but on reflection, it seems misguided to prostrate myself to something that already resides in me."

_"You have done well, Altair. Take this wisdom with you into the world that mankind may benefit from it._"

He watched as the light condensed into itself and finally dissolved. "I will do my utmost," he promised.

* * *

_  
Epilogue_

How he got to his bed, he didn't know. From recent habit he braced himself in those first moments of wakefulness, braced against the misery of recalling nightmares and fear, but like a sloughed off skin it fell away, leaving a sense of wonder and peace in its wake.

He inhaled and stretched, feeling infinitely lighter and rested, for the first time since events began to unfold. He slapped the bed with a wry smile, knowing that though he'd lost many battles here, he'd won the war.

He sat up and his eyes fell on his hidden blade. He thought of the horrible vision of the Brotherhood's demise but it held no power over him, there was no panic now. He'd slain the dragon and as if by way of reward, the answer appeared. He knew what to do and felt confident in the decision. He would go and find Malik at once.

His friend stood at the edge of the Garden, looking out at the view. He was so glad to see him that he had the sudden urge to hug Malik tightly as he approached, but not wanting to alarm him, settled for a pat on the back. "Hello, brother," he greeted him.

Malik's keen eyes searched his face for clues as to his state of mind. Slowly, a half-smile appeared. "You look… rested. How do you feel?"

"Better," he replied with a smile of his own.

Malik laughed softly. "It is good to see you, Altair."

The underlying meaning of his words was not lost on him. It was good to be back. There was much he wanted to speak with Malik about, things he'd seen and experienced, and he looked forward to the conversation. For now, though, he was anxious to share his latest revolutionary idea, as Saleem would no doubt call it when he heard. "We must begin preparations to ensure the future survival of our Order."

Malik looked over at him a long while, sensing the certainty behind his words. "You have a plan as to how we will accomplish this then?"

He stared out at the mountains. He heard an eagle call from below and his eyes quickly found and followed it until it dove, disappearing from sight. "We will vanish; take the Brotherhood underground, away from the eyes of the world."

He waited, watching. The eagle reappeared, soaring upwards with prey clutched tightly in its talons.

Let the world think they were gone. Let them forget, until the Assassins became nothing more than whispered legends. Nothing is permanent in this world. Stagnation would be their downfall, which is why they would change, adapt – in silence and secrecy.

The fortresses would fall, but they were only buildings, in the end. The spirit, the vision, the purpose… these would endure. The Brotherhood would endure.

--Fin--

_A/N: I realize this story arc got a bit weird, the "enemy" being inside of Altair's mind for the most part, so I wanted to offer a brief explanation. Mythology is a great love of mine and the hero's journey is one of the oldest myths that we have. In the hero's journey, all the major characters he meets are representative of aspects of his own self, light and dark. To emerge victorious, he must face each and assimilate these parts of himself. While I have not observed all of the typical elements in a hero's journey story, it was a huge influence._

_The underlying theme to this story arc is initiation, the breaking down of old ways of thinking and shedding illusions. Altair underwent an initiation when he gained the title "Assassin" and now he has undergone another, to rightfully claim the title "Master."_

_If you're curious, I wrote a longer explanation on the symbolism. Since I can't seem to get the link to display properly here, I'll add it to my profile page. I'm happy to answer any questions and as ever, feedback is very much appreciated and welcome. Thank you for reading!_

_Cue end credits music: One Vision, by Queen :)_


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